Are You Ready
by liveforthefight
Summary: Amber Storm is a new WWE Diva, but she doesn't fit the mold.  She is determined to bring the division back to a place of respect and actual skill. When CM Punk, another agent of change, is assigned as her mentor, what happens next?  PUNK/ OC
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, so this is my first attempt at a wrestling fanfic, so I don't know how good it's gonna end up being, but it's been fun to write it so far. I've been hand writing it for a while now, so I have a lot more written than typed, but I'm still hoping to get chapters up fairly frequently. This is gonna be CM Punk/ OC, with mentions of other characters.

Disclaimer: As much as I'd like to own WWE, I don't. And obviously, I don't own any real people in this story. That would be weird.

I stood staring at the name plate on the door for a moment, not quite sure that this moment that I had been dreaming about for as long as I could remember was real. I pinched myself, then, once I was satisfied that I wasn't going to wake up, again, I raised my slightly trembling hand to knock on the door labeled simply with Vince McMahon.

He opened the door a few seconds later, and I found myself face to face with the man who held my dreams in his hand. "You must be Amber," he said, gesturing for me to enter the office.

I nodded, extending my hand, which he shook firmly. "It's an honor to meet you Mr. McMahon."

He laughed, an odd sound coming from the man I had loathed in my days of simply watching wrestling, then come to fear during my years of amateur training. "There's no need to flatter me Amber. I've met enough potential talent to know that you're probably terrified of me, or completely hate me, or both. That's fine. I won't hold it against you. Have a seat."

I sat across from his desk, trying to figure out if Mr. McMahon was trying to put me at ease, or intimidate me further. As he began looking through my file, I decided to reserve my judgment, at least temporarily. Instead, I occupied my racing thoughts by examining the office, so hopefully to disguise my nerves.

The room was nearly the same size as my entire apartment. We were situated in a back corner of the massive office. Behind Mr. McMahon's chair was a floor to ceiling window that encompassed the entire wall. The window had an amazing view of Hartford, that led me to wonder how he got any work done whatsoever with a view like that to distract him. That question only grew in potency as I discreetly examined the rest of the office and realized we were in the only corner of the room that seemed to be dedicated to work-related pursuits. The rest of the "office" was taken up by a kitchenette, what appeared to be a private bathroom, and a large area with couches, a coffee table, and the biggest TV I'd ever seen. The walls were plastered with wrestling photos and memorabilia that seemed to date back to the very beginning of professional wrestling.

I had just enough time to realize that I would be perfectly content to live out the rest of my days in this office when Mr. McMahon interrupted my thinking by saying "Amber Burnside…" almost contemplatively. I looked up to find him staring at me, as if sizing me up. "Well," he said, when it appeared he had found the answer to whatever question had been in his mind, "there is no arguing that you have a very impressive amateur record. The trainers at FCW had nothing but good things to say about you. I have to say, though, you don't quite fit the mold of what a WWE diva normally is; you do realize that?"

I thought almost guiltily of my 5'9" form. My body type was more muscular than stick-thin, and I simply didn't look like the other divas, even without the aforementioned characteristics. Nor did I wrestle like them. I insisted on training with the men at Developmental, and it showed in my technique style. I didn't bother learning to cartwheel, or do any other move based more on sex than skill. Instead, I worked with my strengths: I learned moves based on speed and power, not on kink. And it worked for me. At FCW I beat the majority of my opponents, men and women alike. "Yes sir," I replied cautiously, "but I haven't let it stand in my way thus far. I created my own mold."

He laughed again, appearing satisfied. "You color outside the lines. I respect that. And I have been looking for someone to change up the Diva's division a bit, make it respectable again. I think you could do very well in that role. I'm willing to put my faith in you. There's just one thing. The trainers at FCW wrote that you have obvious scarring on both your wrists. I'm not interested in judging you, and I believe in leaving the past where it is, but we can't have that on camera. What do you want to do about that?"

The people at Developmental had warned me about this. I had come prepared on the off chance that the interview actually progressed to the point of nit-picking. I reached into my bag and pulled out a pair of black fingerless leather gloves that extended far enough down my wrists to cover the scars and velcroed into place so they wouldn't slip off in the ring. "I can wear these." I slipped them on, fastened them in place, then showed Mr. McMahon.

He grabbed my hands, tugging on the gloves a couple times, then nodded in approval. "Alright, now that that's settled, let's talk details. I want to put you on the Raw roster. Any objections to that?"

"That's perfect." I said without hesitation. I'd started out watching Raw, and it had always been the superior brand in my opinion. Not to mention nearly all of my favorite Superstars were on Raw.

"Good. I think you'll fit in better with the Raw roster. They tend to be more…progressive." With that settled, we discussed money briefly. There really wasn't much to discuss. As long as I made as much as my waitressing job, I could sustain my current standard of living. Anything more than that, and Mr. McMahon was offering me a LOT more, was an added bonus. Then he looked at me, as if measuring me once again. "This business can be wonderful, there's no denying that. But you'll also be spending nearly the entire year on tour, putting your body on the line every day, and there's absolutely no way to be sure you'll make it to the top. Very few people do. Are you ready for that?"

I looked him squarely in the eyes, and for the first time in our meeting he was the one who looked away first. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Sir." I said resolutely.

"Well, you've got fire," he said, "a kind I haven't seen in a long time, even longer in our female talent. That bodes well. " He quickly filled a few things into a document, then seven or eight pages came flying out of his printer. "This is a standard WWE contract. The alterations I made were for your gender, age, brand, salary, and name." He stapled the pages and handed them to me.

"I still have to read it over," I stated.

He actually smiled. "I wouldn't respect you if you didn't."

I read through all eight pages of the contract, and once I was entirely satisfied that I wasn't signing away my firstborn or something ridiculous like that, I picked up the pen that had been left for me on the desk. My gloved hand was shaking slightly. _This is one of those moments,_ I thought to myself, _where everything changes._ I forced my hand to steady enough to create a legible signature, then pressed pen to paper in what had to be the most surreal moment of my life.

I handed the contract back to Mr. McMahon, who signed it as well. "Congratulations Amber, you're officially a WWE Superstar. Now, normally we'd have you start out on Superstars until you'd proven yourself, but I don't honestly feel like you have anything to prove. And I really don't want to wait on getting you seen. I want you to start touring with Raw immediately. That doesn't mean you're going to get airtime right away, but it'll speed up the process, assuming you do well. It's gonna complicate things a bit though, because you're going to have to figure out your ring name, and entrance and such in a very short amount of time. Are you ready for that?"

"Yes." I said simply, attempting to control my mounting shock and excitement.

"Good, then you'll fly out to Seattle tomorrow, where you'll meet with the Raw Roster for the first time, and with the COO Triple H, who will decide how best to proceed."

I quickly took a mental inventory of the few things I would need to take care of before going on tour. I could handle flying out tomorrow, easily. "Alright," I agreed, "What time is the flight?"

He checked a schedule sitting on the top of his desk. "I can fly you out at 3pm. You'll make it to Seattle just in time to meet with Triple H tomorrow night, the roster the next day, then see your first Raw production the day after that. I'll set everything up. Go home, get some sleep, and take care of whatever you need to. I'll have someone pick you up at one o'clock tomorrow."

I stood up, shaking his hand once again. "Thank you very much Mr. McMahon."

He nodded, and I recognized the dismissal, withdrawing from the room as quickly as possible. I exited the building and drove home in a daze. It wasn't until I was in my tiny studio apartment that everything sunk in. I had left my home earlier that day a nervous wreck with a dream, and returned a WWE Superstar.

I gave myself a few moments of pure, unrestrained excitement which I spent jumping up and down and emitting the occasional squeal. My neighbors were the loud, partying type. They could tolerate some noise from me for once. Once I'd expended the necessary amount of energy that I would be able to stay somewhat still, I made a few phone calls. The first was to my boss, who I guess I could call my best friend, seeing as how I didn't really have any other friends. I shared the good news, and quit my job. She was happy for me, as much as she could be considering we didn't really know each other outside of work. Then I called my parents who, unsurprisingly, didn't even bother answering their phones. Whatever. It was a courtesy call anyway.

I spent the rest of the evening packing (mostly just clothes and wrestling gear) and making other preparations. The whole process was made easier by the fact that I'd only been back in Hartford for a few weeks after living in Florida to train with FCW for the past few years. I'd grown up in Hartford, and knew the restaurant where I'd worked recently from many childhood experiences, but I hadn't really formed any ties this time, knowing that as soon as my interview with Mr. McMahon was over, I would either be headed back to FWC, or off on tour. The preparations were time consuming, but not nearly as much so as coming up here from Florida had been. Nonetheless, when I finally fell into bed at midnight, I was emotionally exhausted, but wide awake. I knew I was too excited to sleep, but I was determined to try anyway.

I guess I did eventually fall asleep, because my alarm startled me awake at nine AM. I was groggy and exhausted, but adrenaline quickly took over. I choked down some breakfast and coffee, then practically sprinted to the basement of the apartment building, which housed a fully equipped gym. I pounded my way through an intense two hour workout, glad that the gym was nearly always abandoned, especially in the mornings. It allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, and even better, I didn't have to worry about sharing equipment.

By the time I staggered back into my apartment, it was 11:30, and I was absolutely dripping with sweat, but I was relatively calm. I showered, and was ready to leave my dingy little apartment a full half hour early.

Twenty-five minutes later there was a sharp knock on my door. I opened it to find a man who I can only accurately describe as a Suit standing there. "Ready to go Ms. Burnside?"

I nodded, hoisting my duffle bag onto my shoulder and dragging my other suitcase behind me. "Call me Amber," I requested, and shrugged off the Suit's nonverbal attempt to take my luggage off my hands.

The ride to the airport was a silent one, as was the wait for the plane, aside from a few required, and entirely minimalistic exchanges. It wasn't until the Suit and I were settled on what was very obviously a company plane that he initiated unnecessary conversation. "Don't get used to this," he said in a rather flat voice, "after this you'll be on tour busses, or sharing a plane with other Superstars."

I couldn't help but wonder if most people were shocked at that concept, if it needed to be stated badly enough that Mr. Suit here was willing to break the Code of Silence in order to mention it. I figured it had to be in his contract, that way the higher-ups didn't have to deal with a tantrum if it occurred. I laughed. "I've never flown anything but coach. I'm no stranger to busses, or to sharing a plane."

Mr. Suit, (he refused to give me his name for some unknown reason) grimaced, which I judged to be his best attempt at a smile.

The rest of the ride was silent. Thank god I'd had the good sense to bring a book, otherwise the four hours in the air would have been intolerable. I found myself genuinely wishing I was sharing the plane—with someone who had a personality, that is—in spite of my generally introverted nature.

After a while the book wasn't enough to hold my attention, and I found myself staring out the window in awe. I was 24, six years of grueling work and refusing to listen to anyone who ever told me I couldn't make it was about to pay off. My life, the same life I had been ready to end two years ago, was ready to begin, finally. And I was thrilled.

I must have zoned out or dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was the plane touching down. As I got up, the Suit approached me wearing the grimace/smile. "Good luck," he said, managing to push some inflection into his tone at last. "I like you. I hope you make it."

I looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you coming with me?" Obviously he wasn't going to stick around, but I figured he would at least come to the hotel where I would meet Triple H, and everyone else, and stay until the Tour moved on again.

He shook his head. "Someone else will take you to the hotel. Mr. McMahon expects me back in Connecticut."

I shook his hand, almost sad to part with the man. At least I sort of knew what to expect from him, although his random growth of a personality had thrown me a bit. Standing in a completely unfamiliar state, about to meet a bunch of, well, I can't really call them strangers because I see them on TV every week, but people I've never met, well… the Suit, in our few hours we had spent together, had become more familiar than anything I was about to face.

Departing the plane, luggage in hand, I came face to face with… another Suit. I guess I didn't really have to worry about parting with familiarity after all. At least the scene was familiar. This Suit, however, was more talkative. He gave me his name—Adam—almost immediately, and spent most of the car ride pointing out various attractions that Seattle had to offer, and throwing in random pieces of advice. Granted, they were mostly clichés ("just be yourself", etc), but I appreciated the effort. He even attempted to crack a few jokes. Apparently the Suit who was with me on the plan was named Eli, and he was something of a running joke. "Did he say ANYTHING?" Adam eventually asked.

"Yeah, actually, he was very nice towards the end." I responded. I wanted to give Eli his dues. Besides, then maybe the other suits would lay off him.

"Seriously?" the awe was apparent in his voice. "You must really be something special then."

I shook my head. "Unlikely. It was probably just coincidence."

Adam took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot me a look of total disbelief. "Are you kidding me? You're the next Chosen One. The last person he said more than three words to was John Cena. And he's never spoken to a woman before. This is huge!"

Luckily we pulled up to the hotel before the absurd conversation could continue. I was more inclined to believe that Eli had just gotten stuck transporting a bunch of stuck up pricks recently. Whatever. I gathered my luggage again, and got out of the car as quickly as possible, sticking around just long enough for Adam to shout "Conference Room 2. Good luck, Chosen One!"

The hotel was grand in size, and apparently in cost as well. Finding my way to the reception desk practically required a map and compass, or at least a lot of sniffing around. When I finally found it, they gave me even more complicated directions to the Conference Room. This time I actually did ask for a map. The receptionist rolled her eyes, but drew me a crude map that did eventually get me to the room. Unfortunately it didn't get me there before I was slightly winded from running around a hotel the size of a small city with all of my baggage for a solid twenty minutes. "Oh I'm gonna make a fantastic impression" I muttered, before knocking on the door.

Triple H answered. I couldn't help but take a small step back when he did. Talk about a powerful presence. He was actually more intimidating than his father in law, despite his lower position in the company. I was, however, thrilled to find him wearing a simple T-shirt. I'd had enough Suits for one day. "You must be Amber," he said, chuckling at what must have been a very nervous look on my face. "Come on in, I don't bite, at least not outside of the ring." He chuckled again, and I felt the ice beginning to break.

"Well, now that I've made myself look sufficiently pathetic, let's get the ball rolling." At the very least I'd managed to get my breath back, and my comment made Hunter smile slightly.

He shook his head. "Not pathetic, trust me, I've seen a lot worse. You're just…" I was left to guess at what he would've said next, as he looked inquisitively at the piece of paper in my hand. "Is that a map?"

_So much for dignity_ I groaned internally. "Bad sense of direction. I'd need a map to find my way out of a paper bag" I joked.

"Well, apparently you don't need a map to fight your way out of one, and that's what matters here." He smiled, and we sat down.

"So," he began, "my father-in-law thought you were good enough in Developmental to come straight up to the big leagues. Impressive. He also thinks you have what it takes to change the women's division for the better. Thank god." His apparent disdain for the Diva's division shined through for a moment. "So, you're an agent of change, not great at following rules, quick riser, dark background, you're a fan favorite but you also say what's on your mind instead of playing into what they want. I know just who to place you with."

I looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean, 'who to place me with'?"

He backtracked. "Sorry, I got ahead of myself there. Every rookie is placed with a mentor whose skills are similar to theirs. Most times the partnership is limited to off-screen and only lasts until the newcomer learns the ropes, which is why fans haven't really heard about it. Very rarely does the pairing make it onscreen. Vickie Geurrero and Dolph Ziggler is a good example. John Cena and Zack Ryder is another. Assuming you both agree, I want to place you with CM Punk, although you both seem to have a certain disregard for authority, so I might live to regret it."

My breath was gone. Instantly, completely, gone. CM Punk, my mentor. Triple H was saying something, but I couldn't focus on what ti was. The man who unknowingly saved my life, working with me, showing me the ups and downs of being a WWE superstar… holy shit. Eventually the COO stopped talking, asking if "that" sounded good to me. "Yep." I choked out, hoping I hadn't just agreed to sell my soul to the devil or something.

"Good," Hunter stated. "Then you'll meet the other Superstars tomorrow quickly, then I'll introduce you to Punk and let him handle prepping you for your match on Monday."

Words began to register again, and almost immediately afterwards began to make sense. Match Monday. Match. Monday. Wait, match? "Erm," I cringed internally, anticipating looking like a total idiot once again, "Who am I gonna fight again?"

Apparently he hadn't told me that, because he didn't look at me like I was some sort of moron. "Oh yeah, you probably want to know that, don't you? You'll be fighting AJ before the cameras come on."

I nodded, smiling with a confidence that I didn't quite feel. "Perfect, Thank you."

"No problem. Now, you've had a long day, and you've got an even longer one ahead tomorrow. You should get some sleep." As he said that I realized how tired I actually was, not that I ever really slept that well anyway.

"Sounds good." I said, "Now…where exactly do I sleept?"

He laughed, then handed me a keycard and gave me directions to my room. I stood up, smiled, and shook his hand. "Thanks."

He smiled back. "No problem. It was nice meeting you Amber. I'll see you down here at ten tomorrow."

I nodded my agreement and left. Triple H's directions were good. I found my way to my room with relative ease, and ordered room service, settling in to watch a movie for a while. Sooner or later I changed into my pajamas, and set an alarm, settling in for another night of staring at a ceiling. I did, eventually, fall asleep though. My body had just hit its limit.

A/N: Alright, I know this was a slow chapter guys. It's gonna get better, I promise. This was just a sort of intro chapter. Nonetheless, please review!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, first of all, I love reviewers. It's been so long since I wrote a story on here that I forgot how awesome it is to get reviews Second of all, since I don't sleep anyway, I figured I might as well start typing up the next chapter. I'm just kinda splitting it wherever it makes sense since I have it written up in a notebook at this point, so the chapters could vary considerably in length. We'll see, I guess.

The alarm I'd set the night before ended up proving unnecessary when I slept myself out about four hours after finally falling asleep, and found myself wide awake at six AM. I laid in bed for a few moments, cursing insomnia, the world, and anything else I could think of, before deciding that there was no point in sitting there any longer, and dragging myself out from under the covers to face whatever the day had in store for me.

After a long shower to calm my growing nerves, I went about finding some breakfast. The complexity of the hotel layout combined with my determination to kill as much time as possible made this pursuit take much longer than was really necessary. Still, when I found myself back in my hotel room, fed and fully caffeinated, I still had two hours before I was supposed to meet up with Triple H.

It took all of three minutes of channel surfing to come to terms with the fact that the TV wasn't going to hold my interest. There's never anything on Sunday mornings. I left it on some crime show for background noise, however, and wrote for a while. That managed to occupy me for about an hour before my concentration lapsed. After that I resigned myself to pacing around the room, watching the moments tick by on the clock. I still couldn't believe that any of this was real. I was about to meet the man who saved my life. How do you handle a situation like that? And IO was one day away from my first match as a WWE Superstar. I couldn't help but feel entirely unprepared. I didn't even have entrance music picked out yet, or a ring name (if I was going to use one). I occupied my mind by trying to come up with suitable answers to either dilemma, but it was much more difficult than it seemed.

Forty- five torturous minutes and no answers later, I had driven myself nearly insane, and it was time to head downstairs. My clothes were fairly simple: black tank top, dark jeans, combat boots, leather jacket, and, of course, my gloves. I threw my hair back in its signature bun, grabbed my duffel bag with my ring gear inside, and walked out of the hotel room, trying to convince myself that I was ready for this.

The conference room was full of Superstars. I walked in, and suddenly the conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at me. "Everyone, meet Amber, the newest addition to the Raw roster" Triple H made the introduction, which I was grateful for, because it gave me the few seconds I needed to adjust to being in a room with so many familiar faces, who were at the same time complete strangers. It's a somewhat eerie experience.

"Uh…Hi." I managed, once again showcasing my intelligence with my extraordinarily eloquent speech and impressive vocabulary. I decided to try again. "It's nice to meet all of you." _Better. Somewhat. _

As it turned out, I would get plenty of chances to redeem myself for my less than stellar greeting. I ended up walking around the massive conference room, escorted by Triple H, who introduced me one at a time to every Superstar in the room. There were probably thirty of them in total, representing parts of both Raw and Smackdown. Not nearly everyone from either roster was present, but I met most of the big names in the Men's division. A few of the women were there, but most were noticeably absent. Beth Pheonix nodded at me approvingly, and I sensed that she would try to draw me into the Divas of Doom before all was said and done. I made note of her reaction, filing it away for future reference. The few other women who were present barely acknowledged me, and when they did it was with apparent hostility. Interesting. For the most part, I just tried to be polite. There was no reason to burn any bridges, at least not until I had a strategy. I did, however, take an almost instant dislike to most of the women that had nothing to do with their cold attitudes toward me. I did much better with the men, because most of them seemed to have brains in their heads.

Once the preliminary introductions were over, and everyone had pretty much dissolved into their own conversations, I found myself in a corner talking to John Cena, Zack Ryder, and Randy Orton. Once I put their celebrity statuses out of my mind, they were remarkably easy to talk to. "So I'm guessing by the fact that the last hour has been remarkably quiet that Punk is your mentor?" Cena remarked somewhat wryly.

I nodded. Randy Orton sighed dramatically. "Just what we need. Punk gathering up another following."

Laughing, I responded, "One person is hardly a following. And I don't plan on becoming a mindless drone either."

"Thank god." Cena answered, still laughing at Randy's previous remark. "The last thing we need is a mini-Punk running around."

Zack got involved then, defending CM Punk. "Hey, he's not THAT bad. At least since he shaved off the Jesus beard."

We all laughed at that, and pretty soon the conversation moved away from my mentor to other topics. Eventually we were joined by the Big Show (who yes, is in fact bigger in person) and Sheamus (who is even whiter in person). By the time Triple H pulled me out of the conversation so I could finally meet CM Punk, I was much calmer, and much less intimidated. Yes, I had pretty much only met the "nice" wrestlers—except for the women, who were apparently all pretty bitchy—but they seemed fairly normal. For never having been a very social person, I felt like I was doing pretty well in the new environment. And none of them, at least, seemed inclined to hold my rookie status against me, and that was something of a relief. The women, well, I would deal with them in the ring, and avoid them the rest of the time. I'd always preferred the company of men anyway. As for the male heels, well, hopefully I wouldn't have to be around them all that much.

My thoughts were interrupted when Triple H led me to a car. "Uhm, where are we going?" I asked.

"You're going to the arena for tomorrow night's show. Punk will show you around, work out your entrance and such with you, and answer any questions you might have. At the end of the day either you or he will report back to me with all the details so you can be all set for your match tomorrow."

"Okay," I said quietly, trying to mentally prepare for what would happen next.

"A piece of advice—don't be nervous. You two are cut from the same cloth." Triple H gave me a reassuring smile, and shut the car door.

The ride was a short one, which was a relief. It already gave me too much time with my thoughts, much more would have been torturous. I tried to keep the COO's words in mind, but when you're about to meet the person who has had the most influence in your life out of anyone in the word, it's nearly impossible to stay calm.

The car stopped at a back entrance to the arena, and the driver said that CM Punk would be waiting inside. I took a deep breath, exited the car, and entered the arena.

Seeing CM Punk in person for the first time was indescribable. The door I'd just walked through led to what was apparently a garage area. I took a few tentative steps inside, and then I saw him. He was leaning casually against a car, and when we locked eyes, he smiled at me. I froze as he walked towards me. "Amber, right?" he asked. I nodded, words failing me.

He extended his hand, and I managed to shake it. "I've heard a lot of good things about you."

He had? He'd heard of me? "It's nice to meet you." I sputtered.

Punk's smile turned wry. "You're not afraid of me, are you? 'Cause that would complicate things."

That struck a cord. I felt my personality take a few starting gasps and begin to come back to life. "Psh" I scoffed, "you don't scare me…" I trailed off. "I'm just a big fan." That was an understatement, but I was still working to string words together. And what was I gonna say? 'Oh and by the way, you don't know me from a hole in the wall but you saved me life'? Yeah. That would go really well. Not.

"Aha!" Punk exclaimed. "There's the fire they told me was under there. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, how about I show you around and we can have a chat?"

"Alright," I said, trying to hide my amazement at how quickly the ice had been broken. Charisma was even more of a talent of his than he chose to show on camera. _And how did he figure how to get me out of my shell so quickly? _ I found myself wondering, but I didn't have time to ponder it.

We walked through the arena, and as we did Punk showed me the setup of the place, which was apparently pretty standard. I found my dressing room, deposited my stuff in there temporarily, then we walked over to the stage entrance.

"Alright," he said, when we reached the door. "Show me your entrance."

_Oh jesus. _"Well, I don't quite have the details of that sorted out yet."

A slight look of disbelief crossed over CM Punk's face, but quickly disappeared. "Jesus, they really screwed you over, didn't they? I can't believe you're getting thrown into a match tomorrow and they haven't even finalized your goddamn entrance. Well, that's Vince for you." He sighed in exasperation. "Alright, well, we can work with this. Follow me."

We walked down to the ring side by side, and as we did I realized there was no one I would rather have next to me as I entered a WWE ring for the first time. Yes, I know how corny that is, but it was true nonetheless.

When we were inside the ring, I spent a few minutes getting acquainted with the structure and feel of the squared circle. It was pretty much the same as the one in Developmental, at least technically. The atmosphere was the only tangible difference, which was good news. I'd hate to be botching moves in my first few matches because the ring was different.

We settled in the center of the ring, Punk sitting in his traditional cross-legged style, me hugging my legs tightly to my chest. Once we were seated, I asked the question that was at the forefront of my mind. "So…what should I call you?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess it would be weird for you to call me Punk all the time, huh? Call me Phil."

I smiled. "Okay. Now, where do we start?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, I'm as new as you are at this honestly. McMahon never had me mentor before—something about me creating a bunch of Mini-Punks who would take over the world or something. And I've never even heard of someone getting called up without McMahon helping them figure out their game plan and entrance. I guess, let's start with your ring name, and we can build off of that. Did you want to use your real name?"

I shook my head. "I like Amber, I wouldn't mind keeping that, but Burnside doesn't give you much to work with. I want a powerful name. Something that sounds as strong as I want to come off as in the ring."

Phil nodded his understanding, then fell silent in thought. After a while, he said "What about Storm? Amber Storm has the right sound to it, and Storm gives us plenty of options in terms of naming your moves."

I thought it over, churning the name around in my mind a couple times, liking the sound of it. "That's perfect."

"Alright. Now, what are your biggest moves?"

"My finisher is a modified judo throw, where I have one arm around the throat and I sweep out both legs. I also do a 450 splash off the top rope, and a submission where I flip them over from the kneeling position and roll them into what ends up being a combined choke and arm lock. Those are my signatures." I didn't feel like I was describing the moves all that well, but I couldn't figure out a better way to do it either, so it would have to work.

Phil looked contemplative. "Judo, huh?"

"Yep," I smiled, reminiscing, "black belt, actually."

"Me too." He replied. "Judo and jui jitsu."

Knowing we had something in common made it somewhat less daunting to be in the middle of the ring with the Superstar, I had to admit. It gave me enough courage to make a suggestion of my own. "What about Storm Front? For my finisher?"

He smiled in response. "Perfect. Where did you get that, by the way?"

I chuckled slightly, embarrassed. "You're gonna call me a nerd."

"I highly doubt that. Stones and glass houses, you know." We both laughed at that.

"Alright," I conceded, "I'm a big fan of _The Dresden Files_."

He raised an eyebrow, and just looked at me for a moment. Not being able to read the look, I grew embarrassed again, looking down at my knees. "See, I told you." I muttered.

"Are you kidding me?" he said incredulously. "Where the fuck have you been all my life?"

I looked up, stunned. We spent the next ten minutes comparing interests. It turned out we had a lot in common, and by the time we realized we should probably get back to work, I was fully comfortable with Phil, and confident that we were actually on the fast track to becoming friends. I could hardly believe it, but I was thrilled nonetheless.

"Alright, so we need a couple other names. The splash is pretty easy- Tsunami Splash," Phil stated, almost as if talking to himself, "but what do we call your submission?"

I thought it over for a minute, then came up with the answer. "What if we stepped away from the name-related theme? We could call it the Scales of Justice."

"Interesting." Phil commented. "I like it. Unconventional, but that's sort of what we're going for. You're not exactly the conventional Diva, are you?"

I cringed. "Please don't use the 'D' word. It makes me want to puke. Assuming I make it far enough, that's the first thing I want to change. There's no way the women's division can possibly get any respect with a name like that."

"Fair enough. I always hated that word too," Phil agreed, "but honestly, it fits so many of the women on the roster that eventually I guess I stopped questioning it."

"Well, get ready to start questioning it again." I heard the determination in my voice, and loved it. The meek girl who had been parading around in my skin for the past few days was gone, and I swore to myself in that moment that I had seen the last of her.

"Good," Phil said approvingly, and I knew he wasn't referring to my statement. "That's the real you coming out. I can tell by the fire in your eyes. Don't be intimidated. It isn't worth the energy. Now, we've still gotta figure out your music. That's gonna be a bit more complicated, because it needs to suit you. So, tell me about yourself."

_Fuck._ I'd dreaded this moment. I hated talking about myself. "Uh, not much to tell, really" I hedged. "What you see is what you get."

The look he shot me said it all. "I'm not buying it."

_Damnit_. "Okay, maybe it isn't quite that simple," I admitted, "but I hate talking about myself."

His expression changed. "Why?" he asked gently.

I avoided his gaze. Despite the fact that he had unknowingly saved my life, and we apparently had a lot in common, I had known him for all of a couple hours, and here he was asking me for my life story. A story I hadn't told anyone, no less. Worse still was the fact that I could already tell I was in danger of over-talking around him. "There are a lot of things in my past that I'd rather not dig up. I'm not exactly the open book type." That was actually a massive understatement, but I hoped that the nugget of honesty would be enough to make it possible to move on from the subject. I'd never told anyone what made me who I am, that gave me the scars on my wrists and upper thighs, and that eventually turned me into a fighter. I didn't trust anyone enough to open that door, to make myself that vulnerable. And even if I did, I didn't feel any need to burden anyone.

He seemed to accept my words. "Well, even that tells me something about you. You've clearly come through something, or a lot of somethings, and judging by what you just said you probably did it alone. And after all that you managed to get here, become a professional wrestler, and from what Hunter told me, you did it on your own terms. You're a fighter, and I don't mean that in terms of wrestling. Sound about right?"

I shied away from his thoughtful stare. He was incredibly intuitive, and seemed capable of gathering information from every word, every gesture. He had to be. How else could a man who I'd known for practically no time whatsoever read me better than people I'd known my entire life? And how could he draw even that small amount of information out of me? And he seemed to genuinely care for some unknown reason. "Pretty much" I muttered.

"Relax Amber" he said gently. "I'm not gonna push you to talk. I just wanted to figure you out a bit so we could find fitting entrance music. And between your determination to bring much needed change to the women's division and your fighting mentality, I think we can do that without any more information. How about 'Are You Ready' by Three Days Grace?"

"Perfect" I exclaimed, glad to be moving on to a more comfortable topic.

"Okay then," Phil smiled, rising. "Let's see your new entrance. They have your tinatron done at least, right?"

I nodded. "Yep, at least they got one thing right."

"Thank god." he remarked. "That would be a bitch. Alright. Let's see it then. I'll wait here."

We ran through my entrance about five times, until I'd gotten all the subtleties down. When I lept into the ring the last time, Phil nodded and smiled, approving. "Perfect. Do that tomorrow and the crowd will think you've been at it for years."

I grinned at him. I couldn't help myself. For a moment, the true amount that his approval meant to me shined through. "Ahah, so you can smile." Phil joked, "Good to know."

I kept over the top rope, landing briefly on the apron before jumping down to the floor and punching Phil lightly on the shoulder. "Oh shut up." I joked back, suddenly in a playful mood. It had been way too long since I'd been able to exchange banter with anyone.

Phil groaned, selling the weak punch with absurdly over the top (and very bad) acting. "Hey, there's no need to hurt me," he whined, "besides, you break it you buy it!"

I scoffed. "I didn't realize you were for sale. Are you really that broke that you've gotta work the streets on the side?"

"Oh fuck you" Phil muttered, despite his grin.

I threw my hands up. "Sorry, I'm not into prostitutes."

It was his turn to punch me. I faked a growl. "I wouldn't do that if I were you" I threatened.

"Oh yeah?" he taunted. "And why not?"

"'Cause I'll kick your ass into next week, that's why!" I glared at him, but couldn't keep the smirk off my face.

He raised an eyebrow. "You wanna put that to the test? I actually could use a sparring partner, in all seriousness."

Taken a back, it took me a minute to respond. "You would spar with me?"

He shrugged. "From what I heard, you trained with the guys at FCW, and you did pretty damn well. And I'm so sick of these assholes. So what do you say? You too scared of me little girl?"

Phil had clearly realized that the best way to put me at ease was through humor, and pissing me off. "Oh, you're on Punk." I used his ring name to add to my air of bravado. "We'll see who's scared at the end of the match."

"Oh, I'm quivering in my boots."

I looked at his shoes. "First of all, you aren't actually wearing boots. Second of all, you have no idea what you're in for."

Phil looked at his watch. "Well, it's only four. If we haul ass we can probably make it to the gym and grab the practice ring before the evening rush."

"Sounds good." I walked out of the ring, glad I would get the chance to work out a bit before getting in the ring tomorrow. Once I had retrieved my gear, Phil offered me a ride, which I gratefully accepted, considering he had a rental and I didn't.

We made small talk in the car, comparing favorite movies, and similar things. It was a short ride, and by the time we walked through the gym door I was pumped up and ready to fight.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Alright guys, sorry about the lack of updates over the weekend. Usually that's my prime updating period, but I was busy celebrating my birthday and really didn't get any time in front of the computer whatsoever. But anyway, I'm back, and going to RAW tonight live (yes, I live in the Boston area), and in honor of that, here's another chapter! Also, thanks everyone for the great reviews, it really boosts my confidence.

Once we retrieved our things, and Phil showed me where the locker rooms were, we parted ways to put on our gear. Once in the locker room and out of sight, I took a deep breath. _Is this real? Am I actually becoming friendly with the man who saved my life? Am I really about to fight CM Punk? Am I really under contract with WWE?_

I decided ultimately that if it was a dream, it was a good dream, and I might as well live it for a while. I changed quickly, beating Phil t o the ring. When he emerged from his locker room and joined me, I scoffed at him. "Isn't the girl supposed to be the one who takes forever to get ready?"

Phil rolled his eyes as he began to stretch out. "Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot."

We stretched in silence for a few minutes before he asked if I was ready. "I was born ready." I grinned. We retreated into opposite corners, then the fight was on.

I forced myself not to think, going to the place of complete concentration that I always retreated into when I was in the ring. He immediately went in for a headlock, which I ducked under, landing an elbow to the kidneys. When he stumbled forward, I ran back off the ropes, going for a bulldog, which connected. But before I could do anything else, Punk took my legs out with a quick sweep from the floor, and went for the cover. He counted out loud, as was typical for sparring matches. I kicked out at one.

We stood and traded kicks back and forth until I closed the gap, going for a head lock of my own. He grabbed my arm, however, Irish-whipping me into the turnbuckle. I grunted and played possum. He ran at me, going for the high knee. I threw my feet up in counter. He staggered back, but did not quite fall as I'd intended. I got out of the corner, but ran straight into Punk's clothesline. Another cover, another kickout.

I began to get an idea of what I would need to do in order to win. We locked arms, and I managed to get the better of the stalemate, driving Punk to his knees. Grabbing his head and forcing it down I rolled into the Scales of Justice, squeezing his neck between my scissoring legs while pulling his arm at an unnatural angle. "Tap. Out." I growled, intensity creeping into my voice as the competitive mentality enveloped me.

He was close to submitting, I could feel it, but I didn't have my legs locked together properly. I'd sacrificed precision for speed, and that allowed Punk (I just couldn't think of him as anything else in the ring) to roll through into a cover. It was my frustration alone that allowed me to kick out.

"Damnit." I muttered under my breath. But there wasn't room for frustration inside of the ring. I put all of my weight behind a kick to the side, and when it connected I went for my finisher. I had just raised my leg to take out his when he countered, driving me to the ground and locking in the Anaconda Vice. The last thing I wanted to do was submit, but within a few seconds I could feel my arm threatening to slide out of its socket, and I couldn't risk injury, so I swallowed my pride and reluctantly tapped out.

He released the hold instantly, rolling off me. I took comfort in the fact that we were both covered in sweat. At least the win wasn't effortless. "Jesus." Phil muttered. "Unlike most of the people in this goddamn company, you're actually better than you say you are."

I laughed humorlessly. "Not good enough, apparently."

He shook his head. "I beg to differ, if you'd gotten that submission all the way, you would've had me. You almost did anyway. I gotta say, I'm glad McMahon finally got his head out of his ass and hired a woman with actual skill. Most of the men can't hold a candle to your technical ability."

I blushed slightly, hiding it by looking away. "Well, you certainly make a good partner" I remarked, stretching out the arm that had just been locked in the Anaconda Vice. "Maybe we could have a rematch sometime."

"Whenever you want," Phil replied earnestly. "I'd love to have you as a permanent sparring partner actually. WWE is in desperate need of real technicians. It's really down to you, me, and Bryan, and he's turned into a real dick ever since he got the belt a few months ago. Even when he lost the title he didn't lost the attitude. Anyway, sorry about the rant. You probably want a shower. Meet you at the car in a few?"

"Sure." I dressed as quickly as possible. There were showers in the locker room, but I didn't want anything to do with them. Showering in a place where it would be almost impossible to avoid being seen naked held no appeal whatsoever.

Phil beat me to the car this time, suggesting that his view of public showers was the same as mine. Once we were settled into the car he asked, "So, you ready for your first WWE match?"

"Yeah, I think so," I replied honestly. "I want to make a good debut, but this is a dark match anyway."

He nodded, though remaining focused on the road. "Who are you fighting again?"

"AJ" I responded, purposely keeping any inflection out of my voice, waiting to see Phil's opinion of my opponent instead.

"Well, she's fast, but you're better. The only advantage she has is she's got experience in front of crowds the size that you'll be seeing for the first time tomorrow night." The confidence in my mentor's voice increased my own confidence, but I never underestimated opponents, and I said so.

"Good principle to live by," he remarked, "just make sure you don't overestimate them either. You're pretty quick with banter but I get the sense that underneath that confidence isn't actually one of your strong points."

What he said was very true, but I hated admitting weakness, so I went for a joke instead. "Well thanks, Dr. Phil."

The next several moments were spent by both of us dissolving into absolute hysterical laughter at the irony of what was just supposed to be a snarky remark. By the time we'd regained our sanity, we had pulled into the hotel parking lot. Phil waved away the valet, electing to park the rental himself. "I don't trust valets," he explained. "I'd rather not have to pay double for this rental because one of them decided to take it for a joy ride."

I understood the 'if you want it done right, do it yourself' mentality, but I couldn't help remark, "So you're a cynic, huh?"

He shrugged, putting the car in park and shutting off the motor, but not getting out yet. "Fool me once…etc."

"Wait, that actually happened?" I asked incredulously.

He nodded. "Yep, drunk valet plus my rental car equals a car wreck that I really wouldn't like to pay for a second time, and a surrounding clusterfuck that I'm determined to make sure never repeats itself. Everyone was fine, and that's what matters, but once was definitely enough. So from then on I've parked my own damn cars."

I muttered an oath. "People are really fucking stupid aren't they?"

"Especially when they're intoxicated. One of the many reasons I'm straightedge." Phil suddenly developed a faraway look in his eye, and I could tell he was remembering something unpleasant.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face, wanting to bring him out of whatever dark place his mind had brought him to. "Hey! Phil! Anybody home?"

He looked up at me suddenly, grinning sheepishly. "Live of an insomniac," he explained, "When you don't sleep, you end up daydreaming really easily."

"Been there, done that." I responded, referencing my own frequent bouts with insomnia. But I also filed away the moment in my mind, realizing that I apparently wasn't the only person in the car with skeletons in their closet.

Phil looked at me closely. "So, you don't sleep either, huh?"

I shook my head. "Most of the time not more than an hour or two. My thoughts keep me awake." Then suddenly, realizing that I'd said more than I'd intended to, I started getting out of the car. I made it as far as the trunk when Phil grabbed my arm gently. "Sorry," I muttered, "you didn't need to know that."

He didn't release my arm immediately. "Hey, look at me," he instructed, and something about the tone in his voice made me obey, "You don't have anything to apologize for, and you don't need to run away from me."

"There's no reason for me to air my dirty laundry," I protested.

"No," he responded, "I asked a question, you answered it. That's how a conversation generally works. And while I don't expect you to trust me after we've known each other for an entire day, since you probably don't trust anyone, you can talk to me if you ever want to."

As pathetic as it sounds, it was all I could do not to burst into tears on the spot. No one had ever shown me that level of kindness before. And this man barely knew me from a hole in the wall/ "Thank you," I said earnestly, then turned away. I'd about reached my limit with emotional conversations.

"Hey, I think you forgot something" Phil said, holding out my bag. I grabbed it, embarrassed. "You wanna go for dinner in a bit?" he offered as I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder.

I did want to, but I also needed some time to think about the day's events. And I didn't want to impose if he was just being friendly because I was new. "I was just gonna get room service, honestly. How about tomorrow?" I wanted to make it clear that I wasn't blowing him off. I was just an introvert by nature, and tomorrow we would be on the bus to the next location. Everyone would pretty much have to eat together anyway, so it would seem less like imposing.

He smiled, clearly accepting the excuse. "Sure." Then I gave him my number, as he had offered to give me a ride to the arena tomorrow so we could beat the busses there. It seemed like an infinitely better idea to get there while it was still quiet. He promised to text me so I'd have his number as soon as he grabbed his phone out of his room. We parted ways at the elevators when I went up to my room, and he went off in search of coffee.

When I got into my room, the first thing I did was take an extraordinarily long shower. Once I was convinced I'd heated my muscles enough to alleviate as much soreness as possible, I got out, and put on a comfortable pair of sweats.

I checked my phone, and opened the new message. **Guess Who? :P –Punk**

I smirked, and texted back. **Someone forgot to delete their signature XP—Amber**

A few seconds later the reply arrived. **Fuck. –Punk**

I laughed, and went to put my phone away when a twinge ran through my shoulder, making my fingers tingle. It was my turn to curse. I opened the phone again. **You know where the ice machine is? – Amber**

I laid down on my bed until my phone chimed again. **You on six? – Punk**

**How do you know that? Stalker… :P – Amber** I was curious how he knew what floor I was on, but I figured there was a good reason.

**We're alphabetical. I'm not stalking you. Promise. What's up? – Punk**

I was not gonna admit that I was feeling the aftereffects of our sparring session, so I made something up. **Soda in the machine's lukewarm at best. –Amber**

The reply was almost instantaneous. **Liar. The soda machine's next to the ice machine. And my pepsi had ice chunks in it. You hurt? – Punk**

I swore again. I'd cursed more in the past six hours than the past six days. **You're infuriating. – Amber**

**And you're evading. I'm wounded. I'm not THAT old yet. My memory is still intact. – Punk**

I rolled my eyes. **Bumps and bruises. I'm fine. - Amber ** It was technically true. I didn't anticipate any real trouble from my shoulder, it was just voicing its protests. And having injured it multiple times before with pretty bad results, I didn't want to risk a redux.

**Alright… let me know if you need anything. I talked to Hunter by the way & explained everything. – Punk**

I'd forgotten about Triple H's instruction to come see him. **Thanks. – Amber** I replied quickly.

**No problem. I literally ran into him. Good night Amber. – Punk **

**G'night Phil. – Amber. **I replied, and headed out for the ice machine, bucket and key card in hand. While I was there, I grabbed a Pepsi, and found that it was, in fact, nearly frozen. I headed back to my room, shaking my head in amazement.

An hour later, my shoulder was feeling a lot better, the feeling in my hand had returned, and I was very nearly done with dinner. I spent the rest of the evening watching a horror movie. It wasn't even good enough that I bothered trying to look up the title.

By the time the movie was over it was fully dark outside, the clock stated that it was nearly midnight, and I was wide awake. My nerves were shot ,and it had nothing to do with the plotless horror movie I'd just watched. Suddenly my large hotel room was feeling cramped and claustrophobic.

I slipped on some sneakers and threw a jacket over my sweatshirt, grabbed my cell phone and key card, and left the room. I debated just wandering around the hotel so I couldn't get too lost, but I realized I would need to feel the freedom of the night air in order to keep the feelings of entrapment and panic at bay.

Reception was closed, but I stumbled into a janitor who pointed me in the direction of the hotel courtyard. Miraculously, I found it easily enough, and could tell instantly that it would suit my purposes just fine. A bunch of unoccupied lounge chairs looked out on a huge pool dimly lit, and surrounded by small hanging lanterns. None of the light sources were bright enough to detract from the beauty of the star-filled sky, and I felt myself begin to calm slightly.

I chose a lounge chair at random and settled into it. July nights in Seattle were surprisingly neutral in terms of temperature, and staring into the cloudless sky brought me some comfort.

Unfortunately it didn't keep all of my thoughts away. I was growing increasingly nervous about my debut match, and I couldn't quite believe all the events that had transpired in the past several days, but since I last woke up especially.

My mind churned everything over and over again, trying to comprehend the changes that I'd never believed could take place, and had defied all of my wildest dreams. Eventually I found myself daydreaming, ironically remembering all the times I'd imagined this moment. Never in my wildest dreams had I dared to picture that things would go so well so quickly, and that scared me more than anything else. Because whenever things went well for me, they always crashed to a position worse than before. The thought of losing this moment made a few tears roll down my cheeks, but I reined them in quickly. I would not lose control. I couldn't afford to.

Finally, after staring off into the night for a while longer, I forced myself out of my reverie and checked the time, figuring I should probably head to bed. I was astounded to see that it was nearly six AM, but when I looked intently at the sky, I could see that it was brightening. Soon the rest of the world would be waking up, and the relative privacy I'd found in the courtyard would be interrupted by early morning pool-goers.

I didn't want to stick around long enough to have my image of this place shattered by the presence of others, so I hauled my stiff body out of the lounge chair and went in search of breakfast, still amazed that I had lost so much time without realizing it.

The café area was abandoned, aside from the workers and a lone man sitting in a corner with his hood over his head. However, when he lifted his head to have a sip of coffee, I recognized him instantly. I grabbed a plate, filled it at the buffet, and quickly decorated a cup of coffee. Then I sat down across from the hooded figure. "Mind if I join you?"

Phil looked up at me in surprise. "Sure. Early morning?"

"Late night." I responded, draining half the coffee in one gulp.

"Want me to find you a needle so you can inject that? It might be a little faster." he joked.

I yawned, and finished off the cup. "Good idea. But until you figure out how to do that without it being lethal, I'm gonna go get more coffee."

Phil grabbed my arm, making me sit back down. "I'm not gonna try to manage your caffeine intake, because I'd know I'd fucking kill someone if they tried that on me, but try some food first."

"Coffee." I muttered stubbornly, annoyed.

He raised his eyebrows at me, which for some reason was enough to shut me up. "Seriously. Caffeine will murder your appetite, which is probably shaky already between the lack of sleep and whatever kept you awake to begin with. Eat something, then you can have as much coffee as you want."

"Damnit." I said, stabbing a piece of fruit a bit more viciously than was really necessary. "…being all rational on me…" I knew full well the effects of caffeine on appetite, having experienced that very effect more times than I could count, but my single-minded tendencies were working hard to get the best of me.

He smirked. "You'll thank me when you're conscious and not passed out in the ring from not eating."

Images rushed through my confused brain, pictures from my past that were so vivid they could have happened yesterday, though in reality they were many years previously. "Uhhh you in there?" I got brought harshly back into reality when Phil clapped his hands in front of my face. But I was grateful, because reality was less painful than the memories I would give anything and everything to forget.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed loudly, fully and completely startled, as I jumped a few feet in the air, rattling the table.

Phil scrutinized me for a few seconds. "What were you thinking about?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing." I laughed. "I have no idea." This was a total lie, but he seemed to accept it. "'Perils of an insomniac', huh?"

He laughed. "Hurry up and eat so you can get more coffee and rejoin the land of the living. Zombies don't tend to win matches."

I decided that was probably a good point, and cleared my plate without further comment. When Phil nodded his approval, I went back to the coffee machine and returned to the table with four cups of the steaming liquid in a tray. "Really?" my breakfast companion asked in a tone eerily reminiscent of The Miz.

"Yeah, okay Miz." I joked, as Phil made a gagging sound in response. "One of these is for you actually. Maybe even two if you can get there fast enough. Considering you look about as shitty as I'm betting I do. Did you sleep at all?"

"My ego can't take hits like that!" Phil feigned offense for a moment before answering. "And yeah, for a couple hours. You?"

I shook my head. "Nope, but I got in some good stargazing."

He groaned sympathetically. "That's probably not how you wanted to spend the night before your premiere."

I laughed. "Not really, but it is what it is. Roll with the punches and all that."

We finished the coffee on the tray easily, and I debated getting more, but Phil suggested I wait a bit. "Let that settle. You don't want to get too wound up all at once then crash. Besides, you're jittery enough already."

"I am not jittery!" I protested indignantly.

Phil dropped his keys on the floor when I wasn't looking, and I jumped at the sound. I glared at him and he grinned back. "Fine." I half-growled, heart still racing, "I might be a little jumpy."

"A little?" was the sardonic reply.

I continued to glare. "No more than usual." _Damnit_. I'd always been more prone to letting things slip when sleep deprived. I hoped that that comment would go unnoticed, although I knew it wouldn't. At the very least Phil seemed willing to let it go unquestioned for the time being, for which I was very grateful. It was too damn early in the morning for that shit. "So…" I said, after a very pregnant pause, "what do people normally do before they leave for a show?"

"Everyone's probably still asleep. Most people sleep late on show days because we usually leave that night for the next city." He rolled his eyes, and I couldn't tell if it was in reference to the nearly-constant bus rides, or the people who were capable of sleeping late.

"What do you usually do?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Sometimes I'll hang around in the city, other times I just hang out in my room and watch a movie or something. I also leave before everyone else though. You'll want to pack before we leave for the arena so you don't have to rush when we get back. Other than that you have about—" he checked the time on his phone "five hours to kill."

Time was the enemy. It always had been, for as long as I could remember. Having extra time, time that couldn't be filled with something important, was something I systematically avoided at all costs. Except this time it couldn't really be avoided, which meant I would have to spend more time with my thoughts. _Fantastic. _The day wasn't 1/3 of the way over and it already sucked.

"You know, most people like the idea of free time…" Phil half-joked. Apparently the dread I was feeling was showing on my face.

"I'm not most people." I smirked.

"I gathered." he stated dryly. "A piece of advice though? Don't think too much. I know from experience how dangerous it can be to over-think on your first day. Especially when you're functioning on too much caffeine and too little sleep. Do whatever you need to do in order to not think."

I couldn't help but laugh. "I wish it was that simple. I can't really shut my brain off on command, although it would be damn cool if I could."

"Well, I'm probably gonna try to find a decent movie. You're welcome to join me if you want." He offered.

"Thanks," I smiled, "I'm gonna get packed then I might take you up on that." I stood up. "If not, I'll meet you down here at noon?"

He nodded. "See you soon."

A/N: Weird end-spot, I know, but I have to leave for RAW in like fifteen minutes, and I've gotta find my wrist tape. And this was a long chapter anyway. Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, here we go, another update. I promise Amber's debut is gonna make its way into this chapter. It's been a long time coming, and I meant to have it before, but it just didn't end up working out. Raw was awesome live, I'm gonna watch it online too though to catch up on commentary and all that. The dark match: CM Punk & John Cena vs. Kane & Chris Jericho was fantastic. An AA and a GTS occurring simultaneously is just awesome. Okay, rambling over, going on to the story now ;)

It took me all of fifteen minutes to pack what little of my stuff I'd actually bothered to take out of my bag in the first place. I looked at the time on my phone, hoping that five hours had miraculously passed but, of course, it hadn't. I knew Phil's offer of company was genuine, but I'd already imposed on him too much. I pegged him as a loner anyway, and I'd rather not annoy the one person I knew in the business to the point where he couldn't tolerate my presence. Instead, I decided to take a walk around the city.

The fresh air did me some good, as did the daylight. I ended up taking a long enough walk that by the time I found my way back to the hotel (and trust me, that was just short of a miracle considering how lost I was) it was time to go. I walked into the lobby at 11:55, panting from half-sprinting the last mile or so. Phil was standing a corner of the huge room, holding his bag and glancing around casually. When he caught sight of me, he shot me a look of extreme amusement. "You look like hell." he commented wryly.

"That's exactly what a girl wants to hear." My voice dripped with sarcasm, though the effect was somewhat lessened by my heavy breathing. "I just gotta grab my bag okay?"

He rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Fine. But if you aren't back in three minutes, I'm leaving without you."

I laughed, and ran to the elevators, feigning concern that he would actually leave me behind. I did in fact make it back before the three minute mark, hitting the lobby at 11:59. "See Punk, I'm still early. No need to freak out."

He scoffed. "Whatever. Get in the car, Storm. Where were you anyway? People don't generally go for impromptu runs, in jeans, on competition days."

I threw my stuff in the back and got in the car. "I decided to walk around the city a bit. Then I got lost and ran back so I wouldn't interrupt your precious schedule." I winked at him.

He shook his head. "You're not gonna have anything left for the ring."

I was actually slightly concerned about that, considering the lack of sleep, but I brushed it off. "Nah, I'll be fine. I'll just relax once we get to the arena."

"Why do I doubt that?" he asked.

I sighed. "Because you're probably right. I'll just find more coffee."

"Stones and glass houses, I guess" he rolled his eyes.

The rest of the car ride was comfortably silent. I was getting to the point of being too nervous for idle chitchat. Not speaking seemed to be the best way to go, and Phil seemed content with that, whether he picked up on my reasons for not talking, or he had his own.

We got to the arena before even the most ridiculous of fans, so we were able to enter in peace, for which I was incredibly grateful. No one would have recognized me unless they were avid FCW fans, but I was walking next to CM Punk, and seeing the fans' up close and personal reaction to the Superstar would probably have been overwhelming in and of itself.

Once we were inside, we parted ways to go to our respective changing rooms. Before we did, however, Phil made me promise to find him before my match. I agreed. My match was the second of three Superstars matches, so it would be around 8:30. By the time I got to the locker room, it was 12:30. Everyone else was supposed to arrive by four. I calmed considerably at the promise of solitude. I needed to stay somewhat busy to calm my overactive nerves, but I also didn't need the pressure of trying to be social with a bunch of strangers. Not to mention, I was glad for the chance to change in privacy, despite having to share the dressing room with—I checked the door—The Bella Twins, and Eve. _Fantastic. Three heels, and me, the fucking newbie. _I made a mental note to vacate the room well before four, not out of fear, but because I didn't really want to deal with the inevitably confrontation my first night. Regardless, I figured I could safely monopolize the room for the next three hours, and I planned to.

The first thing I did was check out the room. It seemed fairly standard, I supposed. The outer portion was full of benches and chairs. The inner area was a massive bathroom, with showers, toilet stalls, and a wall of mirrors with shelves and sinks underneath them. I found myself wondering how standardized the locker rooms were from arena to arena, before figuring it wasn't worth thinking about. I'd find out soon enough anyway.

I walked back out to the outer section of the room and changed into my wrestling gear. It was way too early, but I didn't really care. I'd rather have the privacy. I slipped on my black full length tights with a red stripe down each of my legs on the side, my red top with black ¾ sleeves and "FIGHTER" written in bold letters across my shoulder blades, and laced up my combat boots. Then I braided my hair down my back as I always did when going into the ring. When I was done I spared myself a quick glance in the mirror. I really didn't look like the average WWE female, between the punk-emo look of my wrestling gear, only exacerbated by the leather gloves, my modest appearance, and my complete unwillingness to wear my hair down, or put on makeup when I was getting ready to fight. But I looked like a wrestler, and not a diva. And that was exactly what I was going for. I looked, not like a sex object, but like a fighter. It was perfect, or at least as good as it was gonna get.

Once I was satisfied that I'd done all I was going to do, I dimmed the lights in the room down to a very low level, settled down on a bench, leaning against a wall with my legs extended, and turned on my ipod.

Phil's prediction, and mine for that matter, ended up proving false. I did manage to relax for a while. I didn't quite fall asleep, but I zoned out enough that the next two and a half hours passed quickly. Soon I was gathering my things and vacating the dressing room, not wanting to stick around any longer. It was 3:45, and I felt like I'd already pushed my luck by staying in there as long as I had.

It was only when I left the room that I realized I had absolutely nowhere to go. When I yawned, however, my first destination became clear: catering. Phil had shown me where to go yesterday, so I got there quickly, and it was still devoid of Superstars when I left with my coffee. Then I started wandering around looking for a secluded area to sit in for a while. I finally found a hallway devoid of dressing rooms where I figured I would be left in peace. Then I put my music back in, and pulled a book out of my bag.

After a while, my coffee was gone, and there was nothing left to distract me from my reading. Even my thoughts miraculously faded into the background. So when someone sat down next to me some unknown period of time later, it scared the absolute shit out me.

"Are you overdosing on caffeine, or are you really always this jumpy?" Phil asked, once my breathing had returned to its normal rate. He, however, hadn't stopped laughing at my extreme overreaction.

I shook my head. "Nope, that's pretty standard for me. And you're lucky. Usually when I get startled I start punching first and ask questions later. You almost got your face rearranged."

He laughed. "I'll bear that in mind. Anyway, what's wrong with your dressing room?"

I shrugged. "I'm sharing with Eve and the Bellas. I wasn't in the mood for a game of 'let's fuck with the new girl'."

Phil grimaced. "Yeah, and they WOULD fuck with you, just for their own sick amusement. In terms of the luck of the draw, you really drew a bad hand."

"Not to mention, I'm not exactly like them, thank god," I muttered, "besides, I thought 'luck is for losers'?"

"Touche." He grinned, "but it still doesn't sound like the best start to your first night."

"I could try to be social, I suppose," I reasoned, "I'm just kind of a loner by nature."

Phil started to stand up. "I can go, if you'd rather be alone with your thoughts. I get that."

I grabbed his arm. "No!" I exclaimed, before realizing how desperate I must have sounded. "Uh, I mean, it's different with you."

He sat back down, not commenting on my awkwardness, or uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. Then again, he hadn't known me nearly long enough to know exactly how out of character that had been. He looked at his watch. "So, you've got a little more than an hour. How do you feel?"

_How DID I feel?_ I wasn't actually sure. Tired, nervous, what else? "Good, I guess." was my response.

"Then you're fucking superwoman." he remarked incredulously. "No one feels 'good' on their first night. Except you, apparently. So either you're the exception to what seems to be a universal rule, or you're lying."

I looked away. "Tell me about your first night?" I questioned in barely more than a whisper.

He sighed. "Well this is embarrassing. My first match was a dark match against the Big Show, and I was so nervous that I actually puked beforehand. Then I got my ass handed to me on a goddamn silver platter. Needless to say, it was not the best night of my life. But," his tone brightened, "I still went on to become champion eventually. So the moral of this story is, no matter what happens tonight, it will have absolutely no bearing on your career whatsoever. Unless you die," he joked, "THAT might have some bearinig on your career." I laughed somewhat nervously at that. "So you really don't have to be embarrassed around me. You don't smell like puke, so I'm gonna guess your night is already going better than mine was."

Hearing Phil's story made me a bit more comfortable. I wasn't gonna talk about how I was feeling, but it helped in terms of easing my fears about the significance of the night. "Yeah, the coffee seems to be staying down."

"Uhm, you've eaten since breakfast, right?" he asked slowly.

"Fuck. I knew I forgot something." I honestly had forgotten to eat. Not to mention feeling nauseous from all the caffeine and stress.

"I'll be right back." Phil stood up, and before I had a chance to respond he was out of sight. While he was gone, I checked the time. Forty-five minutes. I rummaged through my bag until I found my knee pads and brace. I secured the brace on my right knee, slipping the knee pad above it so that the brace was hidden. I'd had my ACL reconstructed a few years previously and it still gave me trouble fairly often. I was very glad I'd found a suitable brace that was easily hidden. First of all, I hated having weakness on display literally for the world. Second of all, any injury that was visible in this business was a target, a target I couldn't afford. Just as I finished securing the other knee pad, Phil returned, carrying a cliff bar and a massive bottle of water. "Eat." he commanded. I was too tired to argue.

A few minutes later, the cliff bar and half the bottle of water were gone. "Thanks," I said quietly, "Sorry for being such an idiot. You probably weren't hoping for an unpaid babysitting gig today."

I felt Phil's heavily taped hand on my face, and cringed away momentarily out of instinct until I felt the gentle pressure against my face, turning my head towards him. I looked into his bright hazel eyes, seeing the sincerity in his face. "Amber, I don't see you like that. I really don't. You're new. No one expects you to know everything right away. And I don't think of this as babysitting. I see you as a friend. Or at least, someone who I'd want to be friends with. You're a good wrestler, a nonconformist, you've got a good sense of humor, and you're the first person I've run into in a long time in this business with intelligence."

I couldn't believe I was actually hearing this, from CM Punk, after only knowing him for two days. "Thanks," I said shyly, "but still, let me know if I start pissing you off. I don't want to burden you when you've clearly got other things going on."

I think he realized how serious I was with that statement, so he agreed, despite the doubt that was evident in his voice. By then, Superstars was five minutes from starting. I stood up stiffly. "I should get backstage. The first match could end before 8:30."

Phil stood, guiding me through the quickest route to the backstage area. It was equipped with a TV, so I could see that the first match hadn't started yet. "You should stretch out." Phil suggested gently. I looked nervously at the TV. "Relax," he laughed, "I'm not gonna let you miss your entrance. AJ's coming out first, right?" I nodded, beginning to stretch, trusting Phil to keep an eye on the action in case I missed something. "Oh jesus. It's just Riley vs. McGillicutty. You aren't missing anything." I finished stretching long before the match ended. It turned out by the time the three count occurred, it was 8:35. AJ's music hit, and I suddenly understood why Phil had thrown up on his first night. "Woah, woah, don't toss your cookies." Phil stated, seeing the look in my eyes. "You don't have time. AJ's almost done bouncing around the ring."

He walked me right up to the stage entrance, and I heard the announcer state my name and that I was debuting over the intercom. "Kick ass." Phil squeezed my arm, and pushed me gently through the entrance door as my music started to play.

I worked my entrance exactly as Phil and I had developed it yesterday, and my fear was replaced with adrenaline as I fed off the energy of the screaming crowd. I smiled at them, enjoying the confused looks I was getting from the few faces in the crowd that I was able to pick out. They probably couldn't figure out why there was a woman getting in the ring who didn't look like a hooker.

I climbed into the squared circle and when the bell rang, I was suddenly calm, focused, and full of confidence. _Just another match._ I circled my opponent for a few seconds, looking for weakness. She lunged at me head on, and I hit her with a swift kick to the side.

She doubled over, looking up at me in shock, and I ran behind her, grabbing her legs and dragging her down for a quick cover. The referee got to a two count. That was actually better than I'd expected. I wasn't looking for a win there, I just wanted to get inside her head early.

We stood again, and AJ went for a clothesline off the ropes. I ducked under the first one, but didn't quite dodge the second. She went for a pin, but I rolled out of the way, avoiding the near-fall. Then I saw an opportunity. I swept AJ's legs out while I was still on the ground in the same move Punk had used on me in practice. Then I stood up quickly, climbing to the top rope and performed the Tsunami Splash. My cover yielded a count of 2 and a half. I felt, rather than saw, the opening for my finisher. I raised my arms up in an X over my head in a gesture of defiance and finality, and dragged AJ to her feet, only to plant her with a Storm Front, and hook the outside leg for the cover. The referee counted to three, and just like that, it was over. My music hit, I threw my fists in the air in victory, walked back up the ramp, and stumbled straight into my mentor. "Way to steal my move, Storm!" Phil said, appearing angry.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I was just in the moment and…" I babbled, oblivious to Phil's growing laughter.

"Slow down, I was kidding. Good job out there!" he high fived me in congratulations, and I grinned.

"Thanks, I couldn't have done it without you." I smiled, and looked straight into Phil's eyes, trying to show how serious I was.

He smirked. "Oh I know I'm just that awesome. You can keep telling me though, I don't mind."

I smacked him. "You're an egotistical ass, you know that?" We were both joking, and struggling to maintain serious faces, making the situation even more ridiculous.

"Nah, I just play one on TV." He grinned.

"Speaking of which, who has the misfortune of facing 'The Best Wrestler in the World' tonight?"

"Oh I get to dance with Dolph Ziggler to see who the number three man in the Triple Threat match with Del Rio and Cena will be at Night of Champions in a few weeks." Punk rolled his eyes, making clear his disdain both for Ziggler and his "business associate". I'd forgotten that Night of Champions was coming up. It was already the last week of July, and they'd decided to put the pay per view in the first week of September, forgoing one in August for this year.

"Joy" I said sarcastically, "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting the Cougar or her Showoff Kitten in person, but I've seen more than enough of them on TV to last a lifetime. Besides" I added as an afterthought, "how many times have you kicked Ziggler's ass now? When is Triple H gonna realize that you're just better?"

"About as long as it takes Hunter to like me," Phil said, the tone of his voice making it clear that the feelings were mutual.

"Still some bad blood there, huh?" I asked casually, although honestly I was intrigued to learn more about the backstage disputes between the wrestlers. I was, despite working for the company now, still a fan, and this was a whole hell of a lot more than viewers got to see on TV.

"Not as much as there was," Phil shrugged, "and not nearly as much as there was between me and Mr. My-title-is-longer-than-the-entire-show Lauranaitis. When Hunter finally fired him, relations between us got a bit better. And I wouldn't mind him as much if he wasn't a Suit. Authority figures and I tend to clash."

"You don't say?" I remarked dryly, remembering last year's Night of Champions match between the COO and the man in front of me.

He laughed. "That obvious, huh?" When I gave him a pointed look in response, he continued. "I don't know, I just want to do my own thing, you know? I'm not gonna be intimidated by some random shithead just because his suit costs more than a year of my rent."

I nodded. "I get that. I've never been great with authority either. I tend to go against the grain, and most higher-ups don't much like when the boat gets rocked."

Phil looked me up and down pointedly before responding sarcastically "I never would have guessed. It's not like you're the only woman on the roster who dresses like she has self-respect and is here for her skill rather than her 'assets' or anything. Nope. You are totally a yes-woman who couldn't possibly go against the norm." We both started laughing at that, and I couldn't help but appreciate that I'd finally found someone who could be every bit as sarcastic as I was.

A/N: This isn't really where I wanted to end it, but my hands are actually sore from typing, and I should probably do something else productive. But on the other hand, I'm at a radically different point in the handwritten version of this story and I want to get caught up with it because I'm really excited to publish that part for you guys. Things are about to get interesting for Amber. And yes, sooner or later you'll learn all about her. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Alright, I had every intention of NOT updating today because I have a major exam tomorrow. But I'm so frigging excited about this story now that I literally can't help myself. I love the part of the handwritten version of the story I'm in and I want to get there badly enough that I'm just gonna forgo an hour of studying and post another chapter so I catch up sooner. XD Oh and, as always, thanks to everyone who reviewed.

After a while we walked back to catering, because Phil's match was the main event and he decided not to drop any "pipebombs" at tonight's show. As we walked there, I found myself getting congratulated by all sorts of people, most of whom I knew from TV but didn't actually know. I found it somewhat strange. But then there was the fact that nearly every woman I looked at glared at me as if trying to murder me with their eyes. "What the fuck is that about?" I whispered to Phil as I got yet another obvious death glare.

"Your reputation precedes you" he responded. "They know you want to change their division, and since most of them can't fight worth a damn, it'll mean real trouble for them if you succeed. Not to mention, that was a fucking strong showing, especially for a debut, so without knowing much about you besides what they've seen and what little they've heard, it's hard not to see you as a threat."

"Seriously? I'm straight out of Developmental. How could I possibly be a threat?" I tried to sound innocent, but failed miserably. I had known going in that I was gonna make enemies, I just didn't realize exactly how quickly it was gonna happen.

Phil shook his head. "You might be straight out of FCW, but you're bigger, stronger, and better. And you're different. In case you hadn't noticed, people don't much like different."

We'd made it to catering at this point, and I munched on a mini sandwich thoughtfully. "Hmm… I suppose." I said in between bites. I decided, quite simply, not to give a shit. I wasn't hoping for hell status, but I also wasn't going to cry about the fact that a bunch of girly girls didn't seem to like me. I wasn't in the business to make friends, I was there to fight.

Soon the conversation moved on to other things, and Phil and I fell into an easy banter until a stage hand tapped him on the shoulder, telling him that the commercial break before the main event had started. Phil muttered a quick oath, and took off running to the stage door. I followed him, wanting to get a good view of the match.

"Cult of Personality" began playing, and Phil walked through the door, becoming CM Punk. The change was barely noticeable, his energy level just picked up a bit as he fed off the reaction from the fans.

The match was a short one, Punk kicked Dolph Ziggler's ass all over the ring and pinned in all of five minutes later. Then he cut a brilliant promo about the upcoming triple-threat match for Cena's WWE championship. When he came backstage afterwards, he was grinning. "The only thing better than tearing into someone on a microphone is tearing it up in the ring first." I smiled in response. _I guess the rush of pro wrestling never really dies._

When I got back to the locker room, Eve, Brie, and Nikki were all inside. I wasn't going to run away, so I found a bathroom stall to change in before facing the other women.

"Oh look, fresh meat" Eve quipped when I emerged from the stall.

I rolled my eyes. I didn't really want a confrontation, but I wasn't afraid to engage either. "Are we back in high school?" I asked, "Because I thought we were all adults here."

One of the Bellas walked up, getting in my face. "Listen New Girl. You don't look at us, you don't talk to us, and you don't breathe our air. Got it?"

I smirked. _Here we go._ "Who died and made you the goddamn queen of the universe? Last I looked this was a fucking free country, and my name is on the door as much as yours is. I say what I want, to whoever I want. If you've got a problem with that, we can settle it in the ring. In fact, I think we have a match at the house show tomorrow anyway." I wasn't actually sure if the match was against the woman in front of me, or her sister, but it wasn't like they wouldn't try to switch places on me anyway.

"Really, New Girl? You actually think you can beat me?" _Oh good. I have the right evil twin. _

"I know I can beat you" I responded cooly. "Now get out of my way. You're blocking the door, and I'm not in the mood to suffocate on your noxious cloud of perfume." She didn't move, so I shoved through her. I knew I'd just made enemies, but I wasn't gonna take shit from anyone. The moment people like that think you're a pushover, your life becomes a living hell. I'd just have to beat her tomorrow, and that would be that.

I found Phil a few minutes later, back at catering. "Do you ever go more than ten minutes without eating?" I joked.

"Not unless I'm in the ring." He responded. "My metabolism is ridiculous."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh it's gotta be such a burden to be able to eat whatever you want, all the time."

He laughed. "Yeah, I guess when you put it like that…." He looked up at the clock. "Shit. We should go."

We made it back to the hotel with just enough time to gather our things and head out to the buses. It was a good thing I'd packed beforehand, because there's no way I would have made it otherwise.

Phil and I had gone our separate ways to collect our luggage, so when I got to the busses, I had absolutely no idea where I was supposed to go, and I was alone in a crowd of Superstars who seemed pretty intent on shoving through me to get wherever THEY were going. "You lost there New Girl?" I turned around to see John Cena smiling at me.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly sure which bus to get on" I admitted, trying not to be embarrassed at my lack of knowledge.

"They go by last name. The first bus is A-H, then I-P, and the last one is everyone else." he explained, gesturing to the different busses as he spoke.

"Real name or ring name?" I asked, officially feeling idiotic.

"Real name. It's easier that way." _Yep, stupid question. But not as stupid as getting on the wrong goddamn bus, _I reminded myself. I thanked him profusely, and collected my bags to load them into the storage compartment while John got onto the bus that we'd be sharing for the next however many hours until we got to Montana for the house show.

Once I loaded my luggage, I climbed onto the bus, flashing my WWE ID to the driver so he would know I wasn't some crazed fan sneaking onto the bus. Then I made a beeline for the nearest pair of empty seats, snagging one as quickly as possible so I wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of imposing myself on someone. I didn't even bother looking around the bus to see who else was there, I just pulled out my Nook and began reading.

A few minutes later I felt a presence next to me and looked up to see Phil standing in the aisle next to the open seat beside me. "Care for some company?" he asked comfortably. I knew from his tone that I could answer either way without offending him.

I shrugged. "Sure." I didn't much feel like talking, I was too tired, but something about his presence made me feel safe. I rationalized that mentally by insisting it was because he was my mentor and he knew how to navigate the strange waters that were the WWE, and that he had become the most familiar person in my life. While that was definitely part of it, if I was completely honest, I would admit that there was something else to it. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, or I didn't want to, but I vowed to figure it out eventually. Until then I allowed myself to just enjoy the feeling of safety, because it was pretty foreign to me.

We fell into a comfortable silence, reading our respective books until the bus stopped at a truck stop about an hour later so we could get some food and any other essentials we might need for the overnight ride.

Everyone exited the bus in a single file line, momentarily filling me with elementary school flashbacks. When we walked into the truck stop, Phil grabbed my arm. I startled. "Hey, I think you promised me dinner tonight."

I'd forgotten about that in the excitement and energy of the day. I nodded my agreement, and promised to find him once we'd gotten food. I did, and we were soon joined by Zack Ryder. I was kinda glad for that. I didn't want to run out of things to talk about, and I didn't feel conscious enough to hold my own in a conversation. The two men did the vast majority of the talking. I inserted a few remarks that were apparently very funny, judging by the men's reactions, but otherwise stayed focused on my food.

By the time we got back on the bus, I was exhausted. But I was still to awake to make sleep an option, especially on a moving bus. "Something wrong?" Phil inquired, apparently referencing my quietness.

I yawned in response. "Just somewhat lacking in sleep."

He nodded, and returned to his book. I didn't bother returning to mine, however. Nothing was gonna sink in anyway. Instead I put on my music and stared out my window, watching cities pass by. My vision was unfocused at times, and I didn't really try to change that. I was content to let the street lights and the stars blur in front of my eyes, and to lose myself in another world.

Some time later I looked down at my phone and saw that it was 3:30 AM. The entire bus was asleep except Phil, the driver, and I. I groaned slightly, stretching as much as the small space in front of me would allow. "Fuck." I muttered, not deliberately speaking out loud, but doing so nonetheless.

Phil quirked an eyebrow at me in response. "Didn't mean to let it get this late. Again. Mother fuck."

"Try to get some sleep" he suggested gently, voice barely audible above the sounds of the road and everyone else's snores.

"I can't." my voice cracked.

He looked at me carefully. "What are you afraid of?"

My lack of sleep sort of reduced my inhibitions. "I can't risk letting the driver be the only one awake." I'd been in a bad car accident once a while back where the driver fell asleep at the wheel. It might have been preventable if I'd stayed awake with her, so since then I'd held onto a firm belief that the driver could not be the only person awake in a vehicle. I wasn't about to admit that though.

"I'm not going anywhere." He promised. "We can take turns sleeping if you want."

That should not have been enough to placate me. I relaxed though, not sure whether it was my exhaustion or Phil's promise making me do so. I was out almost instantly.

I startled myself awake what felt like mere instants later. "What time is it?" I asked groggily, not wanting to open my eyes.

"Just now five" Phil responded. I sat up, forcing my head away from the window. An hour and a half of sleep was not exactly what I'd been hoping for, but it was better than nothing, and I knew it was as good as I was gonna get.

" Are you gonna sleep?" I asked, my level of consciousness growing.

He shrugged. "I don't need to sleep."

"Ever?"

"About once or twice a week," he responded casually, as if that was nothing.

That amazed me. I didn't really sleep much either, but that isn't meant to suggest that I functioned well without it. Phil apparently did. I went back to my book, shaking my head in astonishment, daydreaming of coffee to come. We were scheduled to stop at seven for breakfast. I'd have to wait until then.

Phil and I made idle conversation occasionally, but mainly stayed in our own worlds until breakfast. When we finally stopped, I noticed that only a few people from each bus got off. "Most people would rather sleep away more of the ride" Phil remarked in response to my questioning look at the nearly-empty truck stop. I couldn't help but envy people who were capable of sleeping that much.

There were plenty of decent-looking breakfast places, but I'd never been all that much of a breakfast person, so I opted for a granola bar and a banana from the mini-mart so I could eat at a slightly more decent hour, and a massive cup of Starbucks coffee. The idea of sitting around the truck stop didn't hold much appeal, so I got back on the bus so I could at least settle in for a bit. We were still eight hours or so from our destination. I figured I might as well get comfortable.

Eventually the few people who had opted for food over more sleep got back on the bus, and we were back on the highway by 7:45. I donned my sunglasses against the now-blinding sun so I could resume staring out the window. I soon decided, however, that I preferred looking at the world at night. I enjoyed the new sights, never really having had the chance to travel, but everything looks better while cloaked in darkness.

When the terrain grew increasingly rural, and the view began to be the same for miles on end, I began watching a movie. That carried me through until lunch time, at which point everyone was awake. After lunch the bus became lively, conversations growing to a constant flow. As the energy increased, Phil began describing his entrance into the world of professional wrestling upon my request. He talked about his time in the Indie circuits, and in Ring of Honor. I found myself growing increasingly grateful that I'd avoided the Indies entirely. From what Phil described, some of the companies sounded absolutely horrible. The note of longing in his voice when he talked about Ring of Honor, however, made me wish I'd spent some time there myself. The company sounded much friendlier, and there must've been something amazing about it in order to make Phil sound so wistful.

Eventually he asked me about my background, but there wasn't nearly as much to tell. I'd been at FCW from the beginning, and had just gotten some lucky breaks. It made me almost ashamed of my entrance into the company when Phil had clearly clawed his way up from the depths of hell to get to the top. Nothing had been handed to me by any means, and I'd worked my ass off just to stay alive sometimes, but I hadn't worked for shady companies with questionable intentions, never having any idea if I'd ever move up from there. FCW had it's flaws, but the company didn't deliberately abuse the talent, and while there was obviously no promise of getting to WWE, and that's what everyone wanted, it would have been tolerable to stay there if that was as far as I'd ever made it.

Eventually the conversation moved on, and we ended up talking about favorite wrestlers of the past until the bus pulled up to the arena. We disembarked, not even bothering to get anything out of storage besides our bags with our ring gear—we were moving on right after the show anyway.

I walked around the arena for a while, trying to find my dressing room. When I finally found it, the other three women were already inside. I rolled my eyes at the glares they were giving me and headed for a bathroom stall to change.

I came out to one of the Bellas (I decided at that moment that I would never be able to tell them apart) jeering at me. "Oh look ladies—the New Girl is too good to change in front of us."

"Whatever." I muttered, walking by the snickering women. "See you in the ring, bitch."

The other Bella caught me off guard, managing to grab my shoulder and swing me around so I landed against the wall with a grunt. "You're gonna regret that," she hissed.

I shoved her off me, getting away from the wall and shifting my weight slightly so that when I pushed her it knocked her off balance enough that she stumbled backwards into Eve. I threw the door open and said "You know, somehow I doubt that" over my shoulder before exiting the room completely, shutting the door behind me. "Arrogant, self-righteous assholes" I muttered under my breath as I found myself, once again, looking for somewhere to go.

"Hey, what did I ever do to you?" I looked up from the floor to see Big Show grinning at me, obviously joking.

I smiled up at him apologetically. "Sorry about that."

He laughed. "No worries. So who exactly were you talking to?"

"Oh just the voices in my head" I joked, not seeing any reason to air my dirty laundry. I'd solve my problems with the Bellas in the ring. There was no need to start more backstage gossip.

"Hmmm…." he replied. "You might be better off talking to Orton about that then. He's got more experience in that area."

"And what area would that be?" I chuckled as Randy Orton appeared from around the corner.

Big Show raised an eyebrow. "How exactly do you manage to show up whenever your name is mentioned?"

"It's a gift." he answered. "So what were you guys talking about anyway?"

I smirked. "Something about hearing voices being your area of expertise. I was having a nice friendly conversation with the voices in my head when someone" I glared up pointedly at Big Show "interrupted me."

"Woah, woah, woah…" John Cena came around the corner looking thoroughly confused. "Someone want to explain why we're just now finding out that Amber has multiple personalities?"

Noting the serious tone in his voice, we all burst into hysterical laughter. Cena's face became more confused. Between bouts of laughter, I choked out an explanation of what he had walked into. "So I'm not crazy, at least, not any crazier than any of you." I finished.

With that sorted out, we ended up chatting amicably for a while until I finally took my leave, needing some alone time before the show started. I was glad I'd ran into Big Show, however, because the conversation with the three men had put me in a considerably better mood than I'd been in when I stormed (no pun intended) out of the dressing room.

I finally found a quiet corner where I could sit until the show started. I stretched out and put on all my extra gear, taking my time with everything, because I had more than enough time to spare. My match would be about halfway through the show, and the show was still about fifteen minutes from starting. And it was a house show, so I didn't really care about watching the action. There weren't gonna be any matches that were all that important anyway.

A/N: I'm actually almost caught up with the handwritten version of this story now. At least until I end up writing more in school tomorrow. But on the bright side, next chapter will reveal a lot about Amber's mysterious past, and her first rivalry will come to a head. Just to keep you guys in the loop, this story is still in its very beginning stages, I plan on it being very long and involved. There will eventually be romance between Amber and Punk, but it's still a long way away. Anyway, please review!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Yeah, the published version of the story is once again far behind what I've written. I was doing so well for a while there too…. Unfortunately life, and some nasty virus, caught up with me and prevented me from updating. But its Saturday, so I really don't have an excuse today. Sorry for the delay though guys, I really did want to have this done by Thursday.

I kept my hard rock music going in one ear to pump me up, and the other ear facing down the hall so I could hear anyone if they decided to approach. They didn't. I was left alone until I decided it was time to head closer to the stage so I wouldn't miss my entrance, and that was fine with me.

I nodded and smiled at Zack Ryder and Sheamus as I made my way to the TV near the ring entrance. The match that was two before mine—Kofi Kingson vs. Chris Jericho—had just ended, Kofi coming out on the losing end of a Codebreaker. Big Show was just heading out to face Mark Henry, who I caught a glimpse of for the first time as he walked through the entrance door. I'm not gonna try to describe that experience. Let's just say that standing in the vicinity of the World's Strongest Man when he's pissed off is pretty fucking intimidating. I made a mental note to stay the hell out of his way.

The match lasted about fifteen minutes. I spent the time doing last minute warm ups to keep the nerves at bay. Finally it was over, two World's Strongest Slams later. Though I'd been rooting for Big Show, I was kind of glad I wouldn't have to walk past a very angry Mark Henry, who would probably love to beat out his frustrations on anyone who happened to look at him. It just didn't sit well with my sense of self-preservation.

My music hit, and I was on my way into the ring. I made it about halfway down the ramp when I got struck from behind with a metal object, falling forward. I rolled over immediately, guarding, to see the Bellas standing over me, one of the with a steel chair in hand. Before I could register anything else, one referee was pushing them away from me, and another was bent over, examining me. "Are you alright? Do you want me to call off the match?"

I jumped up, ignoring the bruises I could already feel forming around my spine. The crowd cheered. "Oh fuck no!" I responded, "I'm fighting this fucking match." I got in the ring, suddenly glad that I wasn't mic'ed when I had been talking to the referee. That could have resulted in a fine or worse. Luckily I'd been facing away from the cameras. Meanwhile the second referee, who had come out from backstage to help control the chaos, allowed Nikki into the ring with me. Meanwhile the announcer declared over the microphone that the match would in fact still take place.

The bell rang, and I charged at Nikki, growling. I punched her full in the face and dragged her down to her knees with pure strength alone. I locked in the Scales of Justice, taking care to secure my legs properly this time. She screamed and tapped almost instantly. I held on a little longer than was really necessary in terms of the match, just to make a point, but not long enough to be obvious to anyone outside the ring. I stood, smiled in victory, throwing my hands in the air, then gestured for a microphone. "You're gonna have to find something better than a steel chair if you wanna take me out." I glared at Brie, who shrunk back away from the ring, then I dropped the microphone. My music hit, and I walked out of the ring to deafening cheers from the crowd who, five minutes earlier, had no idea who I was.

I walked back to my dressing room, waving off a trainer who asked if I was okay. I would be really sore tomorrow, especially after spending the night on a bus instead of in a bed, but I didn't need medical attention. The dressing room was mercifully empty, and I dropped my bag on a bench, making my way resignedly to the public showers. _There's nothing for it_, I reminded myself. There was no way I was going to wait for tomorrow's hotel room to get a shower, so I'd just have to suck it up for one night.

Dropping the towel on a bench outside the shower stall, I climbed behind the curtain before stripping, throwing my clothes out onto the bench blindly. I showered quickly, not wanting to spend any more time exposed than was absolutely necessary. But when I shut off the water and peered out from behind the shower curtain, ready to make a mad dash for my towel, I realized I'd already taken too long. The towel, along with all of my clothes, were gone. I cursed a blue streak that would make a marine cry, knowing that the Bellas had exacted their revenge.

I took a second, weighing my options, then when I decided I really didn't have any, I detached the shower curtain from its hanging rings and wrapped it around myself as I ran to my bag, which had thankfully remained untouched. _They must not have seen it in their rushed effort to pull their pathetic juvenile prank_, I figured, glad I hadn't given them any more time to pull off something more sophisticated. The room was empty, but I wasn't taking any more chances. I grabbed my bag and another towel and sprinted to a bathroom stall, locking it behind me.

I dried off and got dressed, furious, and plotting the women's demise in the ring. But it was only when I was fully dressed that I realized exactly how fucked I was. My gloves were among the missing, and I only had one pair. And my only other jackets were in the storage area of the bus. I had no way of covering the scars on my wrists. "Oh FUCK ME." I growled, punching the door of the bathroom stall as a small, and mostly ineffective, means of releasing my anger. I felt tears welling up as I realized exactly how exposed I was, but I forced them not to fall. I was vulnerable enough already. Then I decided that the best thing to do would be to get on the bus where it would at least be dark. No one else would be there until the show was over, which was at least an hour away, so I would have some time to myself to decompress. I ran to the bus, finding it completely abandoned, including the driver. I pried the doors open, giving up on getting anything out of the locked storage compartment until the driver returned. Instead I found my way to my seat, curling up in it as I began to shake uncontrollably from fear and rage. I sat there shaking, infuriated and terrified, not knowing what I was gonna do for a while, trying to come up with options, but seeing none readily available.

A while later, I heard the doors opening again. I figured it was the driver and didn't bother moving or looking up. It was only when I heard someone sit down next to me that I glanced up, instantly afraid that it would be another threat. Instead I saw Phil gazing at me kindly. "What happened?"

Something in me broke. I'm not sure if it was the caring tone of his voice, the fact that he caught me in a moment of extreme weakness, or that it was just him. Regardless, my walls came crashing down, and tears from pain that was years old came pouring out all at once. I put my head back down on my knees, hyperventilating and already starting to feel dizzy. I felt Phil grasp my hand gently. Without sitting up, I turned my hand over in his, showing him the scars that I'd never willingly shown anyone before. People had seen them, but I tended to avoid them afterwards. "Bitches stole my gloves while I was in the shower."

He ran his fingers gently over the scars, examining my other wrist as well. I made myself sit up, but didn't resist his motions. The tears were still flowing freely, and taking up as much energy as I had left. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" he asked quietly, and I was amazed that I heard no judgement whatsoever in his voice.

"No," I replied, body still shaking harshly and adding a tremor to my voice, "when I was cutting-" I choked on the word, and it took me a second before I could continue, "I was trying to find a way not to die. I was suicidal for a while though."

"What stopped you?" he asked, still holding my hand in as much of a gesture of physical comfort as I would allow.

"The first time I failed. I was fifteen, and I took all the pills in my house. I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. The second time, I wanted to die but I never attempted again because…" I hesitated. "Because of you." When he looked at me quizzically, I explained. "I'd watched wrestling for as long as I can remember, hell I was involved in it by then, but something about the way you were able to look anyone in the eyes fearlessly, and how you always kept fighting, no matter what, how you'd never give up, it inspired me to be a fighter again too."

He took a minute to process that, but to his credit he didn't look at me like I was insane. "I don't really know what to say." he admitted. "That's not the kind of thing you hear every day. But I'm glad you found a way to keep living, and I'm honored that I was able to help in some small way. But I'd say that you're the real inspiration, really. You survived. You found a way to get through clearly unimaginable pain, and come out alive. That's admirable."

I shook my head. "I survived, but not unscathed. I'm weak, and always have been."

"No," he responded. "You fought battles that I can't even conceptualize. You are not weak for coming out of that changed, and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is a fucking moron. Battle scars are nothing to be ashamed of." He paused, then asked, "What drove you to that place anyway, if you don't mind telling me?"

I began telling the story that no ears had heard before. "For as long as I can remember, my dad was never around," I began, "he was always at work, doing some job that he could never talk about, and even when he wasn't working he stayed away from the house as much as possible. He hated my mom, and by extension, me. My mom…" I trailed off for a minute, summoning the courage to speak the words that would describe the pain that had consumed me for my entire life, "She was an alcoholic, and a crack addict. She started using right after I was born, and never stopped. Whenever she used, which was pretty much always, she would abuse me both physically and emotionally. She took nearly all of the money we had and put it towards her addictions. Despite all of that, I had to take care of her so she wouldn't end up accidentally killing herself with an overdose or alcohol poisoning or just by falling in a gutter somewhere. I started working when I was twelve so we could pay the bills. I had to work for a shady ass store owner, because he never asked for a work permit, and he'd let me work off the books. But in return I had to deal with his wandering hands and disgustingly sexual comments towards me. I had to hide all the money I made from my mom so I could pay the rent and buy groceries, but she always got furious at me for not giving her the money. I first started cutting when I was twelve. By the time I was fourteen that wasn't enough anymore, and I started starving myself as well. When I attempted suicide at fifteen, I weighed 85 pounds. The hospital wanted to admit me into an inpatient program, but we didn't have insurance, so they couldn't. After that, I turned my life around mostly, until a couple years ago when the depression hit again. But I had a goal this time. That goal was enough to keep me alive."

Phil remained silent, letting me talk until I had nothing left to say. The only thing I didn't talk about was why I'd been suicidal again, the specific reason, that is. I couldn't verbalize it. I wasn't ready. He probably sensed that something was missing, the gap in my story was fairly obvious, but he left it alone. "Fuck… you've never told anyone this, have you?"

I shook my head. "I'm a pretty private person."

He swore again, and I cringed away from the harshness of the sound. "When I said a few days ago that you were a fighter, I had no fucking idea what I was talking about, how true it was."

We sat for a few minutes silently. "McMahon doesn't want anyone to see my scars, and my fucking gloves are gone." I finally commented, coming back to the issue at hand.

He thought about it for a moment. "Of course, WWE couldn't expose the humanity of their Superstars now could they? Then again, you'd probably take a lot of shit from people, so it might be better in the long run anyway. Well, if you don't get them back tomorrow I'm sure you can get new ones. Until then do you have a sweatshirt or something?"

"Locked in storage, aside from the jacket they stole, which I doubt I'm getting back either." I responded.

He shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to me. Normally I would have objected, but I didn't really have it in me. I slipped it on, murmuring my thanks. "How did you find me anyway?" I asked quietly.

"I heard the Bellas laughing manically about something, then I sent you a text, and when you didn't reply I went looking for you. Eventually I ended up here."

I pulled my phone out of my bag, and sure enough, there was the message: **Where are you? – Punk**

"Ah, sorry about that. I didn't mean to send you on a wild goose chase." The tears had subsided at this point and all that was left was a feeling of hollowness.

He shrugged. "It's not like I had anything better to do."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I sincerely doubt that. Nope, it's time for you to come to terms with the fact that despite your best efforts, you're actually a nice guy." I tried to lighten the mood a bit. The others would be joining us on the bus soon, and I didn't want them to sense that anything had gone awry.

Phil, meanwhile, cringed away from my words. "Ugh, they must've slipped something in my coffee." I laughed halfheartedly at that.

"Nope, I think it's just you." I countered.

He looked around hurriedly. "Hush woman. You're gonna ruin my reputation."

I smiled. "Don't worry, your deep dark secret is safe with me. I'll go on pretending that you're a horrible human being whenever people are around."

"That's all I asked" he smiled back, and we fell into a comfortable silence. Somehow my head ended up on his shoulder. The comforting smell of his jacket, the energy expended from such an emotional few hours, and the serenity of the moment combined, and I felt myself drifting off to sleep. Just before sleep took me, however, I said "Hey Phil? Thanks." groggily.

"Anytime" I heard his answer vaguely. "Get some rest Amber."

I didn't wake up when everyone got on the bus, or even when the bus made its nightly stop. It wasn't until 4:30 or so that I came back into consciousness. "G'morning" I murmured.

I heard Phil laughing. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd stay down for that long."

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. "Me neither." I admitted. "I guess I was due."

I made myself sit up, and as I did I felt the stabs of pain run down my spine. "Goddamn steel chairs."

He chuckled darkly. "Yeah, they're a bitch. Ladders are worse though."

I groaned slightly, trying not to imagine 'worse'. "Fantastic. I'll keep that in mind." Luckily, my hand hadn't swollen up from punching the wall. I decided to stick with the positives. "So, did I miss anything interesting?" I asked, not used to sleeping through, well, anything.

"Nope, besides me almost throwing down with the driver when he wouldn't let me into storage to get your stuff. I suppose that was interesting." His tone was light, but I could tell the confrontation hadn't been.

I brought my hand to my forehead in a gesture of annoyance and disbelief. "First of all, how the fuck did I sleep through that? Second of all, it can wait until we get there, it wasn't worth getting in a fight about it."

He grinned sheepishly. "To answer your first question, I might have insinuated that if he woke you up during our 'discussion' that I would punch him in the face hard enough that his nose would come out on the other side of his skull. You needed to sleep." He shrugged in response to the look I was giving him. "And in terms of the second question, he was being a dick. It isn't that fucking hard to open a storage container and pull out a piece of luggage. He was being a lazy bastard, and I have no patience for that shit."

I shook my head in his general direction. "I guess this is what having a Y chromosome does to you."

He scoffed. "Alright, blame it on the testosterone. That works for me. Then I'm off the hook."

"Not entirely," I responded with a scolding tone, "You can't go around verbally abusing bus drivers, even if they are being lazy dicks."

"Yes mom." He answered sullenly before cracking up.

I rolled my eyes. "When do we get to the hotel anyway?"

"A couple hours. This is a pretty short ride." I was relieved. I wanted to get off the bus, do some very necessary shopping, then enjoy the rest of our day off. The next house show wasn't until tomorrow, so I figured to get in some gym time then hopefully find something to do in the evening. Then the house show tomorrow in Wyoming, followed by another day off because Smackdown was airing, then two house shows in different parts of Colorado on Saturday and Sunday respectively. Then Monday Night Raw in Albuquerque. I didn't know the schedule after that, but I felt like I was thinking too far ahead already. I'd figure things out as they got closer. I had a match against Eve tomorrow. I would focus on that. She was the number one contender for Beth's championship, so a strong showing against her would put me on the map.

I spent a little bit of the bus ride thinking about strategy, because I didn't want to have to think about it later when I could be doing something more interesting. Eve had become absolutely vicious ever since her betrayal of Zack Ryder. It had, despite the bitch factor, made her a better competitor. Her attacks were, from what I'd seen, fueled by anger now, giving them more strength. But it also made her slightly sloppier, and she was ultimately still a Barbie doll. I could beat her. I was stronger, and she would make a mistake eventually.

Once I gave up on strategizing, I went back to my book, noticing that Phil had apparently dozed off. He stayed out for about two hours, waking up around seven. We were within an hour of the hotel though, so we never even bothered to stop. It made more sense to just put the rest of the goddamn trip behind us instead of dragging it out further.

When Phil was awake, I asked him if he wanted to go to the gym with me later. He agreed, after checking that I was sure I wanted to go after the chair shot from yesterday. I laughed. "I meant what I said in the ring. It's gonna take more than a stupid chair to take me out."

He gave me a look that seemed to suggest he was torn between being impressed, and something else, but said nothing. Not sure what to make of that, I retreated back into my book until the ride was over.

Our arrival, it seemed, had already been announced. Fans crowded around the hotel entrance, screaming and waving signs. A makeshift path had been cordoned off with ropes and security guards, but the scene I saw outside the window was still utterly chaotic. "Does this happen often?" I asked Phil, who groaned in response.

"Pretty much," he answered. "I love meeting fans, but not like this." I understood that. It was too early in the morning for a circus like this, nights on the bus weren't exactly refreshing or invigorating, and even from FCW I knew what it was like to walk through crowds of people, everyone trying to put their hands on you. It's nerve-wracking, especially before the day's first cup of coffee.

Because of the crowd-control situation, it took a few extra minutes to get off the bus. And we were told that we wouldn't be able to get our luggage until they could get it inside discreetly. "I'm never getting my fucking suitcase, am I?" I asked, disgruntled. "It's a fucking universal conspiracy to keep me out of my own goddamn luggage."

Phil smirked at me, then turned the expression into a patronizing smile. "I'm sure it is."

"Don't. Mock. Me." I growled.

He laughed. "I'm CM Punk. I mock people. It's what I do."

I swatted him as I watched the first few people get off our bus. We came soon after. The fans erupted at the sight of CM Punk and the flashes of hundreds of cameras quickly became blinding. My senses were overtaken by the flashing lights and roaring screams. It wasn't like anything I'd ever experienced before. And they weren't even paying the slightest bit of attention to me. Phil grabbed my arm, dragging me through the fray into the hotel lobby. It was only then that I was able to recover from my stupor as my vision returned to normal. "Don't worry, it's like that for everyone their first time." Phil explained, nodding his head toward the mob scene outside that thankfully had not been allowed to spill into the building. "Just keep your head down or wear sunglasses next time. You get used to the rest after a while."

"Alright," I smiled shyly at him. "Thanks."

We checked in quickly, riding the elevators to the eighth floor where our rooms were supposed to be located. I let Phil know that I had to get my shopping done before anything else, so we agreed to meet up to go the gym whenever I got back.

I stopped in my room only long enough to get cleaned up as much as possible—it's not like I could change clothes, however much I wanted to—then headed back out. I snuck out a back door, avoiding the fan mob, then took off on foot.

A/N: Well, a slightly longer update for you guys. I'm not gonna promise that there'll be another one tomorrow, but I'm hopeful. Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry guys, life got ahead of me again. I really did want to post this Sunday, but it just didn't end up working out. Also, I wrote this chapter before Jericho's shoot last night on Raw, so I'm gonna pretend for the sake of the story that Amber didn't know about Punk's past. Maybe she didn't see that episode or something. I know, there are some holes there, but I didn't want to rewrite the chapter, and couldn't find a tactful way of her incorporating that into a conversation. So I decided to leave it as is. Especially since I'm way too angry at Jericho and the entire WWE right now to deal with that. On a happier note, thank you to my one loyal reviewer **StephNexus.** Everyone else: please keep the reviews coming! They motivate me to write.

After looking up and down the street to no avail, I did a quick web search on my phone, finding out that there was a shopping center a few tenths of a mile from the hotel, and that it was pretty much a straight shot to get there.

I walked without hurrying, enjoying the fresh air and the freedom of moving under my own power. When I got there, I decided to get breakfast before doing anything else, acquiring a breakfast sandwich and a coffee and sitting down at one of the food court tables. Luckily it was early enough in the morning that the tables hadn't become disgusting yet.

I ended up taking the majority of the coffee with me, because I'd finished the sandwich and didn't feel like sitting anymore. I'd done plenty of that on the bus ride. Then I walked around until I found a directory which pointed me in the direction of my destination: Hot Topic.

I found a new pair of gloves that were almost identical to the ones I'd had, and ended up looking around for a while longer. I'd forgotten how much I loved the store. When the store clerk finally rang me up, I had two new shirts, a necklace, and the gloves. But I figured I'd earned the right to splurge a little, seeing as how I hadn't gone shopping in several months for anything besides groceries.

When I left the mall, I sent Phil a text. **On my way—Amber **

My phone buzzed. **OK. I have your luggage in my room. Didn't want anyone to get any funny ideas—Punk**

_Something to look forward to, _I thought, before replying. **Thanks. See you soon—Amber. **When I got close to the hotel, I donned the new gloves. Phil's jacket covered everything it needed to, but I wanted the extra security. I'd taken enough risks in the past twelve hours to last me a lifetime.

By the time I got back to the hotel, the fans had dispersed (or had been dispersed, I wasn't sure) so I was able to use the more accessible front entrance, allowing me to get upstairs more quickly than when I left. I knocked on Phil's door, and he opened it, making a ridiculous face at me when he did. I chuckled, and he rolled my bags out the door. "Jesus. What the fuck do you have in here, rocks?"

I smirked. "Yep. Boulders, to be precise."

"I might have known." He glanced down at my gloved hands as I shrugged out of his jacket and handed it back to him with my thanks. "I see you triumphed over the mall."

I shuddered dramatically. "It tried to eat me. But yes, I got out alive, barely. Anyway, I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes—"

He sniffed the air. "I concur," he said, a look of disgust on his face. Then he snickered.

I punched him. "You're a dick, you know that?"

"Yep" he quipped in response.

"ANYWAY," I drew the word out pointedly, "Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was gonna suggest we head out to the gym in an hour."

He laughed and agreed, shutting the door and leaving me to drag my luggage down the hall to my room.

I showered for a long time, letting the hot water work out at least some of the tension in my muscles. When I finally coaxed myself out from under the stream, I wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror to examine the damage done by yeserday's chair shot. Nearly my entire back was covered in black and blue splotches. _Ah well, it goes with the territory. _I reminded myself. I'd had worse.

Then I threw my hair back and put on my new Slipknot shirt and a pair of yoga pants. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with wrestling gear, and I wasn't far enough removed from yesterday's incident to be able to reconcile with changing in public. I didn't look like much of a wrestler, but it would work for a sparring session. Then I went over to Phil's room, knocking on the door. "Ready?" I asked.

He nodded, hauling his bag with him. "Let's do this."

When we got to the gym—some hole in the wall wrestling facility with an attached Planet Fitness—the ring was already occupied by Wade Barrett and Cody Rhodes, so we worked out for a while first. When they finally—and I do mean finally, they sat chatting in the ring for a good twenty minutes after they were done fighting—vacated the ring, we had been alternating between strength and cardio for a little over an hour. After a quick water break, we climbed into the ring.

We fought on and on without a decision for over an hour. When we hit the eighty minute mark, we were both panting on the ground, drenched in sweat. "Draw?" I choked out between shallow breaths.

"Sure" he replied. "That was the best fucking match I've had since Bryan turned into a jackass."

"That was the best match I've had, ever." I responded. "Just reminds me how much I hate fighting girls. Or fighting men who fight like girls, which is a lot of them."

He laughed at that, then turned contemplative. "You know, you've got enough skill that you really could be fighting the guys."

"Yeah, but McMahon has rules about that… and I'm fine with that. For now."

Phil raised an eyebrow. "For now?"

"Oh I'm hoping to raise some hell eventually, but not until I make a name for myself" I hedged. In reality, I had no solid plans whatsoever yet, but I did want to end up in coed matches eventually, just for the challenge. But like I said, I'd need to work my way up through the women's roster first.

He shook his head at me as we finally summoned enough energy to roll out of the ring. "Mystery wrapped in a goddamn enigma. You're gonna steamroll right over this company, aren't you?"

"Oh fuck yes. That's the goal." He laughed, and we made our way out to the car. When we got inside, it was 2pm. "Plans for the rest of the day?" I asked casually, not having any frigging idea how I was gonna pass my evening.

He sighed, starting the car. "I think I'm on drunk duty. Nearly the entire Raw roster is going clubbing, and somebody's gotta make sure no one does anything too stupid. And that pretty much always falls to me since I don't drink anyway."

"Ugh" I rolled my eyes. "Gotta love having to parent your drunken, belligerent coworkers."

"Sounds like you speak from experience," he noted.

"Ohh yeah. I'm no stranger to that role either." I remarked, remembering my days in FCW where pretty much every weekend was spent playing designated driver for people who I didn't even like.

"Straightedge?" he asked, "or do you just end up going out with a bunch of schmucks?"

I laughed. "Straightedge. Well… both, actually."

"Wanna come along?" he offered. "It'd be nice to have some sane company."

I snorted. "Sane? Me?"

"Ah, good point. Sober, then." He quipped.

"I'd punch you," I remarked, "but considering you're driving, I'd rather not risk my own life in the process."

"I win." He smirked. "But seriously, you want to come along later? It would be nice to hang out with someone who wasn't drunk."

I could tell from the tone in his voice that he genuinely wanted me to come. I couldn't blame him. Sitting alone in a bar watching a bunch of other people drink themselves into stupidity isn't the least bit enjoyable. At least if someone else is there you can carry on an intelligent conversation. "Sure," I smiled. "It's not like I've got any plans. I guess I can tolerate your presence for a while longer."

He threw one hand over his heart as if I'd just stabbed him. "Oh that hurts."

"Yeah yeah," I smirked at him. "Keep your hands on the wheel there buddy. You're not gonna be any good as a designated driver if you kill us first."

With that we pulled into the parking lot, agreeing to meet up around six to head to the club. Since I had a little less than four hours to kill, I decided to make use of the hotel laundry machines. Then I slipped out of my gym gear and cleaned up a bit, washing off the copious amounts of sweat that had accumulated from the intense workout earlier. I was done in plenty of time to put my laundry in the dryer without having to worry about some asshole throwing them on the ground. Then there was nothing left to do but wait. I decided not to bother getting ready yet, I still had three hours and at most it would take twenty minutes. Instead I settled in to watch a marathon of Law and Order: SVU.

I was able to really get into the plots this time, and was interrupted only by my phone's alarm going off, reminding me to collect my laundry.

When 5:30 rolled around, I sighed and dragged myself off the bed reluctantly. _Why the fuck did I agree to this again? _I grabbed a pair of grey skinny jeans, a blackshirt with a silver skull and crossbones on it, my leather jacket, and combat boots. Once I was dressed, I threw my hair back in a loose bun, leaving a few loose strands to frame my face, and decided that that would have to be good enough. It was just gonna be a night of collecting drunks, I wasn't really out to impress anyone. Satisfied, I slipped my wallet and keycards in my pocket, and headed down to the lobby.

Despite being a full ten minutes early, Phil was already standing there, wearing dark jeans and a plain black hoodie. He looked me up and down. "Interesting." he commented ambiguously.

"What is?"

"Well…" he hesitated.

I rolled my eyes. "Out with it Punk."

He smirked. "You just aren't really conforming to the normal clubbing look. Most of the women generally wear dresses."

I shrugged. "I don't give a shit. And if I can't fight in it, I don't wear it. Period. Regardless of the stupid unwritten rules that everyone else seems to follow like a fucking herd of sheep."

"Awesome." He said, grinning at me.

"Thanks. Besides, 'dark' works a lot better for me than 'sleezy little whore'. I figure it's better to be yourself. It's a lot more comfortable that way."

"Agreed. I fucking hate conformists anyway. If your only reason for doing something is because everyone else is doing it, there's something seriously fucking wrong with you." We chuckled, then walked to the car. "By the way," he asked, once we were inside, "do you drive?"

"Yep," I responded. "Why, is the Straightedge Superstar planning on deviating from the lifestyle?"

He laughed at my thick sarcasm. "Nope, just wondering in case we need to drive more than three people back. After a point I really don't trust people in a cab."

"Fair enough." There were the coherent drunks who knew enough about what was going on, then there were the catatonic drunks who didn't even know their own fucking name. The former you could coax into a cab and send on their way. The latter had to be escorted straight to their bed, because that was the only way they were gonna get there.

We arrived at the bar, parking out front. "Here we go," I muttered.

Only a few members of the roster were there when we first arrived. "Oh lovely, it's gonna be a late night." Phil groaned, seeing the emptiness of the club and realizing that the true partiers wouldn't even kick off until much later than we'd hoped.

"Great." I said sarcastically. "Well, let's get a table. If we're gonna make a night of it we might as well be comfortable. Maybe we can have some fun at least."

We did, and ordered a massive plate of nachos and two Pepsis. "So, what made you decide to be Straightedge?" I asked casually as we waited for our food.

He shrugged. "I was pretty much born this way. My dad was a lot like your mom" he confessed quietly, "so I never really saw the point of taking away your control and changing yourself into another person. Same for you?"

"Yeah essentially," I responded. "I always vowed not to turn into my mother, so I figured the best way to ensure that would be to stay away from substances altogether. Not to mention I've never been able to pinpoint a moment in my life where it would be better to not have a clear head, or to relinquish control of your body and mind. I have to admit though, I stole the term from you."

"Phrase theif." he laughed.

"Yep," I admitted. "I shamelessly stole your word. What a fiend!"

He raised his eyebrows in an expression that was just so CM Punk that I couldn't help but crack up. "Well at least you admitted to… what?"

I couldn't stop laughing. "Oh, nothing."

"Ugh. Women." He replied, rolling his eyes.

"Uhuh." I didn't get to respond further because our food arrived. The next few minutes were spent in silence as we munched on the surprisingly good nachos. By the time the food had disappeared, about half the roster was there, and they were already starting to kick off, drinking and dancing to the absurdly loud music of the club. Everyone was happy to see Phil, or at least they seemed to be when they walked in.

"The funny thing is, they'll hate me later. No one likes the chaperone." he remarked.

While everyone else just said a quick "hi" to us and went about their business, Beth Pheonix ended up pulling a chair up to our table and staying for a while. She seemed eager to meet me, and even more eager to chat with Phil.

"Well, I have to say it's quite refreshing to see a new diva who isn't a little twig who gave up on modeling and decided to join WWE instead." she started, after making her completely unnecessary introduction. "I think you'd be a good fit for the Divas of Doom, actually. Of course, it would be on a trial basis until you prove yourself a bit more, but I think we could form a beneficial partnership for both of us. After all, we are trying to accomplish the same goals."

_Yeah, to eliminate people like you_ I thought harshly. Meanwhile, both Phil and Beth stared at me expectantly, waiting to hear my response. I thought it out quickly. "Well," I said casually, "we have a tag team match against the Bellas on Raw Monday, right?" Beth nodded. "Then let's see how that goes. I'll give you my answer after the match for the entire WWE universe to hear." I already knew exactly what I was going to do, but I now I needed to mislead her a bit so she didn't see it coming. My plan would work a lot better that way. "Besides, a public alliance formation would really shake up the show. The crowd's gonna love it." The excitement in my voice was genuine, but it was not caused by looking forward to allying with Beth. Quite the opposite.

Beth smiled, falling right into the arms of my plan. "Awesome. It'll be great to have you along for the ride New Girl." I neglected to correct her false assumption that I'd just agreed to join with her. I had her right where I wanted her.

She turned away from me and chatted with Phil for a while. She was very animated, while he just seemed bored. I found it kind of odd that she wasn't picking up on body language that I found blatantly obvious after only knowing the man for about a week, but said nothing. I could have been reading the situation wrong, and even if I wasn't, I knew nothing about the dynamic between the two of them. Not to mention, it was absolutely none of my fucking business. However, when she finally left, I had to ask the question that was at the forefront of my mind. "Are you guys going out or something?"

He shook his head. "We have less than nothing in common," he explained. "Aside from wrestling, of course."

"Then why exactly did you just let her talk your ear off?" I asked, thoroughly confused.

Shrugging, he ansered. "I don't know. I guess because I try not to be a complete dick all the time. Besides, I've burned a lot of bridges, and before you came along I didn't really talk to much of anyone for any amount of time. Beth's alright, she's less of a ditz than most of the women, and less of a jackass than most of the men. Are you really gonna ally with her though?"

"I'm gonna give the WWE universe something to remember me by on my TV debut" I answered cryptically. I'd found out via email this morning that I would in fact be on the live Raw show this Monday, and Beth's offer of an alliance gave me the perfect opening I'd been looking for to make a memorable entrance into the WWE. I didn't mind the idea of telling Phil was the endgame was, but not in the middle of the bar where the walls have ears and the woman in question could be anywhere in the darkness of the room. Besides, it would make an interesting surprise.

"This falls under the 'rasing hell' category, doesn't it?"

I laughed. "I'm just gonna enter with a bang, one way or another. Gotta make an impression somehow."

The patented 'Punk smirk' on his face said it all. "I have no doubt you'll do just that." He looked around at the crowd. "Well, that seems like just about everyone."

I looked around as well. "Wait, didn't you say the entire roster?" The club was filling up, but not nearly enough to represent all of Raw.

"I should have been more specific." He answered. "These are the regulars. Plenty of people don't come out on 'group outings'. The biggest assholes tend to have their own parties, unless they have business with the divas, because nearly all of them come out every time." He nodded his head in the direction of a corner where, if I strained my eyes against the dark haze that was the club lighting, I could see Alberto Del Rio with both Bellas in his lap.

I made a retching sound, and Phil laughed. "Yeah, that about sums it up."

It was the first time I'd seen the women since yesterday. "I have half a mind to go over there and demand that they give me my shit back, but chances are they already burned it, and besides, women with that little self respect tend to make me lose my lunch, and I have a feeling Del Rio wouldn't enjoy getting puked on."

"I would actually pay to see that." Phil answered, chuckling at the image of his rival's very expensive looking suit covered in sick.

I laughed. "I think a lot of people would, but as a wise jackass once told me, 'I try not to be a complete dick all the time.'" I looked around at the crowd and then back at my companion. "Fuck this shit." I declared suddenly. "Let's dance."

Phil looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Er… what?"

"Playing chaperone doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves. And besides, I think this is the one club I've been to where the music doesn't absolutely suck." I referenced the hardcore rock pouring in through the stereo.

The music and hours of pent up aggression and days of pent up excitement combined and hit me in a wave of ecstasy and inhibition that no drug could provide.

He laughed. "CM Punk doesn't dance. I have a reputation to uphold."

I glared at him mockingly. "What's the matter? Afraid of getting made fun of?" I taunted.

That dragged him out of his chair. "What the hell. Why not?"

We made it through one song before fighting our way back to the table. The club was way too full, we were both horrible dancers, and the smell of alcohol on the floor was absolutely sickening. "Okay," I admitted, "that was a fucking bad idea. But you gotta admit, it was fun, aside from the massive crowd of assholes."

Laughing, he responded. "Never. Again. I can't believe I let you talk me into that."

"Agreed." We shook on it, smiling. "Well, at that was one for the books."

"If there's a book of absolute fucking fails, then yes. Otherwise, that never happened." He smirked.

The wave of adrenaline had worn off, and I was content to sit back and chat, which we did for the next hour or so while watching the crowd.

A/N: Well, the two versions of the story are officially caught up. And I know this chapter might seem like a complete filler, but a lot of seemingly small things that happened here are going to become very relevant in chapters to come. So stay tuned, I promise this was more important than it seemed. And also, please review!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Yeah, I know, I left you guys hanging. I don't even have an excuse, I just haven't been motivated to write. But on the bright side, I've been doing a lot of planning for this story and I have a lot more of the details worked out. Also, I came to the conclusion that I need to change a couple formatting things with the story, so hopefully things will run a bit more smoothly from now on. Or, more than likely, in the next chapter, because most of this was already written when I made my decisions. Anyway, on with the story.

Sooner or later the shit hit the fan, as was pretty much inevitable with a bunch of intoxicated people crammed into a small space. Beth Pheonix and Eve got into a knock-down, drag-out fist fight over who was "better". On an aside, if they fought like that in the ring, maybe people wouldn't get up for bathroom breaks every time a woman comes onscreen. But no, apparently most women have to have liquid courage in their system before they throw a legitimate punch. Anyway, they got broken up by some of their male friends, but Phil ended up leaving for a bit to drive a crying, very drunk Beth back to the hotel.

After that, people began to trickle out in twos and threes, apparently having had enough excitement for one night. By the time Phil got back, a slightly annoyed look plastered on his face, the only people left were John Cena, Zack Ryder, and Alex Riley. They were all sitting around a table and seemed almost entirely sober. "You guys good to get back?" Phil asked, more than a little wearily. I made a mental note to ask what the fuck happened in that car ride that changed his temperament so much so quickly.

"Yeah, we're good" Zack answered, and I shot him what I hoped was a grateful smile. "Hey, Punk, I saw you dancing earlier. Nice moves Bro!"

He rolled his eyes. :Yeah, yeah, yeah," but he softened it with a laugh. Then he looked at me. "Well, I think we're good to go if you're ready?"

I looked at the clock—it had just turned eleven. "Yeah, let's go."

We said our goodnights and got in the car. Once inside, I remarked "Well, I've seen worse. That really wasn't too bad."

He laughed. "FCW must've been pretty hardcore if you think that was tame. We don't normally have girls throwing down."

I scoffed. "Oh that little spat? That was nothing. There was barely any blood. Besides, I fight harder than that dead sober."

"Jesus, you're a hardass. There were plenty of tears though. At least from Beth. Whenever she drinks she always gets really weepy." He sighed. "I don't even understand why you'd do something that consistently makes you feel horrible."

I didn't answer. Plenty of things came to mind, but none of them good, and none of them would contribute positively to the conversation, so I kept them to myself. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

When we got back to the hotel Phil invited me upstairs to watch a horror movie for a while since neither of us were going to sleep anyway. Wanting some sanity after the overpacked club scene I agreed readily.

We ended up watching _The Ring_ one and two. We'd both seen the first one, but I hadn't seen the second. Parts of both movies still managed to startle me, and Phil mocked me incessantly for that, all in good fun, of course. Then I mocked him back when he cursed under his breath in response to the more tense scenes.

When the second movie's credits began to play, Phil grabbed me suddenly and screamed, clearly intending to terrify me. It worked.

He doubled over laughing hard enough that even my instinctive punch didn't stop him. "Oh that was fucking perfect" he howled, a few tears of mirth escaping his eyes.

I chuckled in spite of myself, his amusement wearing off on me. "Shut the fuck up." I attempted, but it really didn't come out nearly as harshly as I'd intended.

"Make me…" he taunted.

"Don't tempt me," I muttered, "We already know I can kick your ass."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Last I looked, I was the one who beat you."

"Once!" I exclaimed indignantly.

"Mhmm" he mocked, and we dissolved into laughter again.

"You're such an ass." I joked, then I caught a glimpse of the clock. "Mother fuck is that really the time?"

He sighed. "Apparently. When exactly did 3am get here?"

"I guess you were too busy being a dick to notice," I quipped, smiling. "Anyway, I should go."

"Alright. See you tomorrow then." He opened the door for me, and I headed back to my room, miraculously falling into an immediate and deep sleep.

When I woke up it was 9am. Shocked, I dragged myself out of bed quickly. When the panic of sleeping so much wore off, I realized that I didn't have to be anywhere until 2, so I laid back down, ordering room service for breakfast since the buffet would probably be closed by the time I got down there, or at the very least stripped of anything worth eating.

***FIVE HOURS LATER***

I made it down to the hotel lobby, finding that Phil was conspicuously not there. _Strange,_ I thought to myself, sitting down in one of the many chairs to wait, _he's always early. _

A moment or two later my eyes were suddenly covered. I shrieked and struggled, elbowing the offending body in a terrified attempt to free myself. I instantly recognized the resulting grunt as belonging to Phil. He released me. "Note to self," he wheezed, "never do that again."

I tried to regulate my breathing, reminding myself that I wasn't actually in any danger. "Fuck." I gasped. "Yeah, never do that again."

He noticed the shakiness of my tone and looked up, expression changing from one of mirth to one of concern. "Shit Amber, I'm sorry. I was just being an asshole."

I shook my head. "Not your fault," I answered honestly, momentarily remembering the person who caused me to have that reaction whenever my control was taken away. I shuddered. "Anyway, we should probably go, right?"

"Yeah…" he looked at me warily, but said nothing else.

I quickly changed the subject, not wanting to linger on something I absolutely couldn't handle explaining, and by the time we got to the arena we were back to our usual easy banter.

We hung out at catering for a while, taking full advantage of the free food and discussing our matches for the evening. Phil was facing Alberto Del Rio as a preview of the upcoming triple-threat match at Night of Champions, and I, of course, had Eve.

"What are you gonna do about your roommates?" Phil asked, referencing the bitches I was currently sharing a locker room with.

I laughed darkly. "If anything else happens, I'm gonna explain to them, in no uncertain terms, why it's a bad idea to fuck with me."

"Just don't kill them," Phil warned, "bitches or not, Vince might not take kindly to that."

"Oh all right," I sighed dramatically. "You're such a killjoy."

He shrugged. "I know. But I'd rather you not get fired. Or arrested. I kinda like having you around."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I don't think I'd enjoy jail." I speculated. "Alright, no bodies, I promise." I joked, to cover the flare of happiness I felt that for once in my life someone actually said they wanted me around, even in jest. It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did, but no one had ever said something like that before.

He smirked. "Because you aren't planning on killing anyone, or because you're gonna hide the evidence?"

"Damnit, you figured out my evil plan. Can't get anything past you, huh Sherlock?" I feigned annoyance.

"I am the all-knowing Punk" he declared in an absurd voice, "Nothing escapes me."

I shook my head. "Whatever, Brooks. I'm gonna go change. I'll leave you and your god complex to it then."

He laughed. "See you in a bit."

"Later Punk" I called over my shoulder, walking away with a small smile still lingering on my face.

***FOUR HOURS LATER* **

I jumped around a bit backstage, working to get blood flow to my extremities before fighting Eve. I hadn't seen her, or either of the other women I was sharing a locker room with, since the night before. Their absence didn't go unnoticed, but I had more important things to think about. My music hit, and I made my way into the ring.

Eve came out next, for some reason accompanied by none other than the Bella twins. _Oh this can't be good, _ I mused.

I really didn't have time to contemplate it however, because the bell rang and the match was underway before I could think of the best way to handle what was threatening to become a very bad situation.

Eve was slightly better than the other females I'd faced so far, but she couldn't hold a candle to most of the men I'd fought in my lifetime. I was doing pretty well until Eve "accidentally" knocked the referee out of the ring and she and the evil twins ganged up on me for a full minute until the referee began to stir again. By then I was beat up and exhausted, having been taken almost completely by surprised, and a well placed dropkick from Eve while I was still dazed allowed her to pin me for the three count.

The crowd boo'ed as the Bellas joined Eve in the middle of the ring to celebrate her "victory". Meanwhile, I rolled out of the ring, frustrated, but vowing not to let something like that happen again.

I walked back to the locker room, fuming, and was just about to walk through the door when Beth grabbed me, pulling me aside. "I saw your match, tough break."

I shrugged. "Once and a while you get fucked over. I should've kept my eyes open."

"Well, we'll destroy them on Monday."

"Yep. Well, if you don't mind, I gotta go," I said, trying not to sound as hostile as I felt. I really didn't have small talk in me at the moment.

"Hang on," she replied. "I just wanted to let you know that you, Natalya, and I are set to face Kelly Kelly, Alicia Fox, and AJ tomorrow in a tag team match."

"Great!" I tried to feign enthusiasm, and apparently did a good enough job that she bought it. "Looking forward to it." In truth, I wasn't looking forward to it at all, I didn't want to fake allegiance to the Divas of Doom for any longer than was absolutely necessary, but I would for the sake of everything going smoothly Monday on Raw.

"Me too." Beth said in a tone I couldn't quite place. "See you around then."

I went back to the locker room, shaking my head at the unwanted interaction right after a horrible match. I'd just barely put my bag down on one of the benches when the three other women joined me."

"Great match," Eve taunted, "Too bad you aren't good enough to beat me."

I walked over to her. "I was kicking your ass out there. Too bad you're so scared of me that you've gotta cheat to win."

She slapped me full in the face. I stumbled, but held my ground, seeing red. "That," I growled, "was almost as bad of an idea as fucking me over in the ring."

The Bellas laughed, eerily in unison. "Three to one Bitch. Your odds aren't looking too good."

"That would worry me," I said nonchalantly, "if I relied on odds rather than skill." I snapped my hand over, and by the time she blinked I had Eve's arm locked behind her back, and she was between me and the other two women. "Normally I'm a pretty nice person, but you caught me on a bad night. So this can go one of two ways. You can agree to leave me the fuck alone and act like adults, or you can keep trying your luck with me and see how that ends up for you." I torched her arm slightly for emphasis, not enough to do any damage, just enough to make a point. I didn't need or want to injure her. I just wanted the bullshit to end.

One of the Bellas tried to take a swing at me, but ended up hitting Eve instead. "Are you done?" I asked casually, as if asking about the weather. My adrenaline was pounding my heart so hard I was sure people down the hall could hear it, but I acted as calm as I could. Things had to get settled, and I was gonna make sure it happened right here, right now.

"Fine." Eve grunted. "Now get off me, psycho Bitch."

I smirked, letting go. "Glad that's settled." I slung my bag over my shoulder. "See you tomorrow ladies." I got three sullen glares in response to my sickly sweet smile. When I walked out of the room, I wasn't sure it was over, but I was hopeful.

I ran into Phil almost immediately after. "You would've had her if those bitches hadn't—" he started, then cut off suddenly. "The fuck happened to your face?"

I'd actually forgotten that I'd gotten slapped rather harshly less than five minutes previously. Now that I was thinking about it, however, I could feel the slight sting of a handprint on my check. "Oh yeah, I got bitch slapped in a slight…altercation… after the match."

He smirked. "I'm guessing you're the one who came out on top this time?"

"Eh, three on one isn't hard when none of them can fight worth a damn. I think we've put our differences behind us. At least I hope we have."

His eyebrows quirked up slightly. "No bodies, right?"

I laughed. "Unfortunately, I did promise. But I gotta say, I've about had it with their shit. If they cost me another match I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to keep that promise."

"If they cost you another match then they're actually dumber than I thought. They're not gonna shit the bed like that. They know you'd destroy them." he reasoned.

I smirked at the image. "We'll see. For my part, I'm done with them after Monday night anyway—moving on to bigger and better. I'm never gonna earn a title shot feuding with the Bellas."

He nodded. "True enough. Besides, working with Beth, whether for her or against her, is gonna give you a better foot in the door since she has the belt right now."

I smiled somewhat evilly. "No doubt things are gonna get interesting on that front."

"You're gonna feud with every woman on the roster, aren't you?" he asked, guessing at least part of my plan.

"Probably," I shrugged. "Someone gets in my way, I don't politely ask them to move. I go through them. This is only a stepping stone anyway."

"I'm officially intrigued." he admitted. "And I never actually gave a shit about the women's division before."

"See!" I declared. "I'm already stirring things up and I haven't even technically debuted yet."

He smiled, as if reminiscing. "Raising hell..." he said quietly.

The rest of the night flew by. Punk beat Del Rio practically to a pulp, an uneventful bus ride passed leaving me, as usual, entirely unrested, and sooner or later we arrived at the next arena for the next show.

I was beginning to get a feel for the day to day grind of life on the road. It was, as far as I could tell, a life of extremes—moments so dull you'd think they would never end, then adrenaline-filled moments in front of screaming crowds, and behind the scenes when feuds explode. Exhaustion gets phased out by excitement and the thrill of the fight, then returns when the battle ends. The monotony of the sleepless bus rides was made easier by my growing friendship with Phil, and our quick banter lessened the boredom and torture of long nights on the road. It was strange for me to feel that close to anyone, but I was getting used to it somewhat. At the very least I was grateful for the break in my normally lonely life. And, not to mention, I was getting along well with some of the other Superstars too.

I thought over these developments as I stretched out, preparing for the tag team match. It would end up being all that important, but a strong showing always matters.

Beth came up to me before the match and told me in no uncertain terms to follow her in-ring directions to the letter. I agreed, pretending that I didn't mind the idea of being ordered around like a petulant child incapable of making judgment calls. _It's only one night_ I reminded myself, knowing that the act was more important than my ego.

Our match was second of the night, and came up quickly. The fans boo'ed us mercilessly, my first experience with a heel reaction. I glared at them, playing it up. _One night. I have to convince them for one night. _

Beth started the match against Kelly, wearing the other woman down. After a few minutes and a suplex, Kelly tagged in Alicia, and Beth put me in, though she didn't really seem to need the tag. "Wear her down, then put Natalya in." she muttered to me as we grasped hands in a two person clothesline, knocking Alicia flat before Beth exited the ring. I nodded my agreement.

Alicia was a lightweight, and not much of a fighter. A kick to the midsection laid her out, and I performed a quick Tsunami Splash before tagging in Natalya as directed.

The lag, however, allowed her to tag AJ into the match. "This could've been over" I hissed at Beth, making sure nothing was visible to the fans, but unable to contain my frustration.

"I know," she replied evenly, "but they already try to cut our matches short. We gotta prove we can put on a match worth watching that's more than thirty seconds long. Let Nattie finish it."

"Oh, I get it now," I answered, faking sincerity. I'd slipped a moment ago, and I couldn't afford to again. "Good idea."

Natalya did, in fact, finish the match, and rather quickly. We got in the ring together, and raised our clasped hands in the air in an unspoken gesture of solidarity. The crowd boo'ed louder. We took the heat in stride, Beth and Natalya enjoying it, and me looking ahead to Monday night when the tides would turn once again.

My changing room had an oppressively hostile feel to it after the show, but it was silent, and there was no further confrontation aside from the dark looks I was getting from the other women. I was pretty sure nothing else was going to happen on that front, and I was almost at the point where I would feel comfortable closing the chapter that was my feud with them. _Step One: Complete. _

That night at dinner, Phil and I found ourselves joined by Zack Ryder and John Cena. "So, turning heel on us Broskette?" Zack asked me almost as soon as he sat down.

I laughed. "You're gonna have to wait and see Ryder. I will say this though:" I looked around, making sure neither of the Divas of Doom were within earshot "I fucking hate taking orders from stuck up bitches who think they're better than everyone else."

"I think that's your answer" John remarked wryly. "Well, it's gonna be interesting either way."

"That it is," I promised. "Speaking of interesting, what about next Sunday?"

Phil and John smirked simultaneously. "Let's agree on one thing. Whatever happens, Del Rio doesn't leave with the belt" John insisted. "He doesn't deserve to be at the top, and no one wants a goddamn coward for a champion." Cena's distaste for the man was abundantly clear, especially since he wasn't a big one for cursing.

"Agreed." Phil stated flatly. "After that, what happens happens." The two men truly did respect each other, and I knew they weren't going to throw down verbally or physically over the dinner table. Del Rio, however, was not in the same category. And privately, though it was none of my business, I agreed with their take on things. I was, of course, rooting for Phil because I was closer to him, but I liked Cena in general, and he made a good champion. Del Rio, however, didn't have an honorable bone in his body, and it made him absolutely intolerable.

"Hey, don't forget about my match!" Zack exclaimed. "You're looking at the next intercontinental champion!"

I hadn't really thought about the rest of the card for Night of Champions yet. Zack would face Wade Barrett for the intercontinental title. Eve would fight Beth Pheonix for the Diva's (_ugh_) belt. Kofi Kingston would defend the United States championship against Hunico. Christian, meanwhile, was getting his "One More Match" for the World Heavyweight Championship in a fatal four way against the champion Randy Orton, Sheamus, and Mark Henry. Also, the tag team titles would be put on the line by Daniel Bryan and The Miz against Santino Marella and R-Truth. Regardless of the outcomes, it would be an amazing night.

"How could we forget?" I asked.

"You're gonna dominate, Bro." Cena chimed in encouragingly. In truth, I was somewhat worried about the outcome—Barrett was an intense opponent. But I'd be pulling for Zack, no question. He'd had a tough year, and he really deserved to get on the map as a dominant mid-carder. Taking out Barrett would definitely earn him that status.

"Just watch out for underhanded bullshit" Phil advised flatly, having just suffered an undeserving defeat against Barrett a few weeks back when the man gave him a thumb to the eye when the referee turned his back.

Zack nodded. "Will do Bro. Thanks."

We spent the rest of the meal predicting the outcomes of the matches. I found myself wishing that I was on the card as well, but I had to remind myself that my time would come. Despite sitting at a table with main-event caliber talent, I was still a rookie. I would have to work my way up to pay-per-view status. Instead, I focused on what would end up being my big moment for the week: Monday night, when I showed the WWE universe where my loyalty was, and made sure they would know my name from then on. Nailing my TV debut was the first step to ending up in important matches down the line.

A/N: I really don't have much more written at this point, and this was the best end point I could come up with, so there it is. I can pretty much guarantee that I'm not gonna get another chapter up till this weekend, I'm really busy until then. Regardless, please review!


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Well, I'm starting this on Thursday. I don't really know when it's going to end up being long enough to be postable though. I decided to try typing past what I'd handwritten, so this should be interesting. Anyway, thanks for the reviews so far. This is officially the longest fanfiction I've posted online, and it's not even halfway done, and I really appreciate the support.

Cena looked at me carefully, as if trying to read my thoughts. It was eerie, as if he could see straight through me. "You gonna be there on Sunday?"

"Of course." I replied. "It'll be good experience, and besides, I wanna watch you guys. I've never been to a pay-per-view before."

He smiled. "Good. I want my cheering section there."

Phil scoffed. "I think she's gonna be rooting for me actually." His joking manner was betrayed by his absurd tone.

"Gentlemen," I raised my hands in the air, "there's no need to fight over me." They laughed. "All I care about is that Del Rio doesn't win." Privately I was rooting for my mentor, but there was no need to admit that out loud.

"You're so rooting for me." Phil declared boastfully.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, if it's gonna inflate your ego that much I might have to switch teams. I don't know if I could tolerate you if your head got any bigger."

"Now that I'd like to see!" Zack waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

It took me a minute to catch on to what he meant, but once I did I reached across the table and smacked him. "Get your mind out of the gutter Pervis. That's not what I meant."

The other two men at the table cracked up as Zack clutched his arm. "Yeah, she punches better than most men" Phil grimaced sympathetically.

"Only when someone deserves it." I growled.

Zack raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Just don't hit me again." 

I smiled evilly. "Besides, how do you know what 'team' I'm on anyway? I don't remember specifying…"

His jaw dropped and hung open comically until I reached over and bodily shut his mouth. "You're gonna catch flies. Besides, I'm just fucking with you. Now get whatever image you had floating around in your sick mind back out of there before I beat it out of you."

He looked away guiltily, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch. He had turned a quite spectacular shade of red, so I decided to stop screwing with him. I'd tortured him enough. The other men, however, were not so kind. They continued mocking him incessantly for several minutes, but he didn't really seem to mind.

Sooner or later we ended up back on the bus, and eventually we arrived at the next location. Since I didn't have a match I ended up electing to stay on the accursed bus in the hope of getting some sleep while the vehicle wasn't in motion, or full of loud voices.

I succeeded to a point, managing to catch a few hours and waking up just as everyone was getting back on the bus. Phil had dominated over the Smackdown Money-in-the-Bank winner Cody Rhodes. Cena had won against Del Rio via disqualification when Ricardo Rodriguez tried to interfere in the match, but ended up smashing Cena in the face with a chair right under the referee's nose, proving once again that stealth was not his strong point. Cena would have won anyway, and ended up being lucky enough to not take any damage from the chair. Nothing else all that exciting happened besides Beth beating Eve up a bit after Eve's match against Kelly Kelly. Clearly I hadn't missed anything earth-shattering.

The ride ended up taking slightly more than the entire night, and we arrived at the hotel around 9 AM. It was, once again, surrounded by screaming fans. Luckily I knew what to expect this time, and was able to successfully navigate the chaos. I was honestly just happy to know I'd be spending the night far away from a highway. There would be a Raw-only house show tomorrow night (since Smackdown was taping), but the ride was a short one, just short of two hours, and we would leave tomorrow mid-morning. The bed, the STATIONARY bed, was already calling my name in a siren song. But I had more important things to do than sleep.

***SEVERAL HOURS LATER***

I dressed for my match in silence as usual. Nerves plagued me, although considering I was about to go out on live television in front of millions of people all over the world, I didn't feel nearly as concerned as I could have. I was going in with a plan, and that idea comforted me. I visualized what I was gonna do over and over again, hoping that nothing went wrong. The only real variable is that we would have to win, and I was confident that we would. After that it would hopefully all just fall into place. If we lost, however, for any reason, I would have to wait another week, and hope that I got a similar opening. I wasn't a big one for waiting or hoping, and I didn't want to have to explain to Beth why I withheld my answer, so I vowed to make sure we won as quickly and efficiently as possible, regardless of Beth's instructions. She would get pissed, but I didn't really care. It wouldn't matter anyway.

John Cena walked p to where I stood stretching. "Ready for your match champ?"

I grinned at him. "I was born ready."

He slapped my arm lightly. "Go get 'em."

"Will do." I said, going back to stretching.

Phil found me soon after, and we had a similar conversation. "Raise some hell." he instructed as I walked out to the stage and then down to the ring, joining Beth inside. The crowd boo'ed us, then actually boo'ed louder when the Bellas came out. Clearly they were trying to decide who the lesser of the evils were. Well, I'd show them once the match was over.

It turns out the match was over pretty quickly. Beth tagged me in fairly soon after the bell rang. I didn't really bother wasting any time, despite her instruction to the contrary. The first Bella didn't even have the chance to make the tag. A few well-placed punches and a Tsunami Splash ended the match within two minutes after it began. _Now the real fun starts. _

I waved Beth into the ring and she joined me enthusiastically, the dominant win clearly pushing any annoyance she had at me for disobeying her directions out of her mind. She went to raise my hand in victory, and what happened next brought the audience to their feet. I grabbed her arm, swinging her around and planting her hard with a Storm Front after a quick shot to the face to stun her. Then I climbed to the top rope and dropped my elbow on her.

Beth laid in the center of the mat groaning. I gestured for a microphone, and one of the techs handed me one warily, as if waiting for me to attack him as well.

"First and foremost" I said slowly, "I have some business I have to take care of. Beth here," I gestured offhandedly to the woman in the middle of the ring, "asked me to join the Divas of Doom a couple days ago. I promised her an answer on Raw. Well Beth, in case that wasn't abundantly clear, or in case you're too concussed now to get the message, I'll spell it out for you: my answer is no."

The crowd cheered, and I grinned at them. "Alright, now that that's out of the way, you're all probably wondering why I did that. Well, besides the fact that that woman is an absolute dictator, and I really don't take orders from anyone, I don't particularly like people who claim to be something they're not. Frankly, I hate every 'diva' in the locker room for willingly portraying women as nothing more than sex objects night in and night out in this business, but people like the Bellas, people like Kelly Kelly," I paused and allowed the crowd to cheer for the blonde woman, "they don't bother me all that much. You want to know why? They don't pretend to be anything other than what they are: ex-models who decided to put on a bikini and try their luck in the ring. Beth Pheonix and Natalya, the self proclaimed 'Divas of Doom' claim to be the ones who will change this division for the better. I'll give them one thing, they certainly are athletes. But they aren't wrestlers. Despite all their claims they come out here every night with their hair down, midriffs showing, and whenever they aren't in ring gear they're wearing disgustingly provocative dresses. I'm not like that. I am not a 'diva', and that's the last time you will ever hear me use that word. I am a wrestler. And I promise all of you, tonight was only the beginning. I will make this division worth watching again. I will make sure that every woman who gets in this ring is, and looks, respectable, if I have to go through every person in this business all the way up to, and including, Vince McMahon, to do it. I'm the real thing, and I will be the change this company so desperately needs. Beth, if you can hear me right now, which I tend to doubt, mark my words: I will take that championship from you, and when I do, not only will I make sure hypocrites like you never touch it again, I will turn this entire damn company upside down."

I threw the microphone over my shoulder, raised my hands in an X above my head, and my music began to play as the crowd went apeshit. _I guess it worked. _I smiled as I walked out of the ring, stopping at the top of the stage to pose one more time. The fan reaction said it all—the people wanted change as much as I did.

I rode the rush all the way backstage, accepting various people's congratulations as they came. Phil walked over to me eventually, and high fived me. "Shit Amber, that was one hell of a shoot for your first time out there. Actually, it was one hell of a shoot, period."

I smiled. "I told you I was gonna make them remember me."

"I never doubted you, but…damn… that was impressive. Vince really should let me mentor more often if this is gonna be the result" he winked at me.

Laughing, I wished him luck on his match and went back to the locker room to watch the rest of the show in relative peace. I was encouraged by my performance and the feedback I'd already gotten. _A few more nights like that and I might end up getting booked in real matches eventually. That had to have intrigued Mr. McMahon. _

The funny thing was, I'd had no idea what I was going to say pretty much until I'd held the microphone to my mouth. I'd known the gist of it, yes, and I'd definitely known that I was going to say something, but I couldn't find the words until I was in front of the crowds, camera in my face, waiting to hear what I had to say. _Well, regardless, it worked out. _

Phil was put in a match against Wade Barrett and got the chance to exact his revenge on the man for beating him several weeks previously using unfair tactics. He did well, and his backstage segment where he talked about fighting Del Rio on Sunday was brilliant as usual. I'd always prized myself on my ability to voice my thoughts eloquently, but I couldn't even come close to CM Punk when it came to dropping pipe bombs. No one could. He even threw in an aside about shoot earlier, saying that the women's division really did need some changes, and that it was nice to be intrigued with a woman standing in the ring for a change. I knew he'd catch a shitload of heat from Beth for that at a later date, since they were supposedly friends, but I appreciated the gesture.

The only other memorable moment was when Cody Rhodes got injured in a match against Mark Henry. From the backstage gossip, which I didn't trust too much, he had a fairly significant ankle sprain and would be out for a couple weeks at least. As much as I disliked him, I couldn't help but feel bad for him. The match was a nasty one, and I don't think I'd particularly enjoy fighting the World's Strongest Man less than a week before he got a title shot either.

After the match Phil and I decided to go to a late-night movie, seeing one of the many Saw movies in a theater that had brought it back in what appeared to be a week-long horror special. The movie was terrible, but the outing was fun. We grabbed food at a Denny's on the way back, since it was the only place that we could find that was open at 2am, then we headed back to our rooms.

Sleep came as soon as my head hit the pillow. I hadn't realized it, but that marathon session of travelling had worn me down a bit. But after the house show tomorrow I'd have a few days off, so I could catch up on my rest then.

We were back on the road soon after breakfast the next day, but the ride was brief enough that it didn't seem as torturous as the others we had completed recently, and everyone was excited at having a day or two off. The bigger superstars only had two days before having to make some appearances. The rest of us had from whenever the show let out tonight through Sunday morning when we would all report to Austin Texas for Night of Champions. I was heading back, not to Hartford, but to Tampa. I'd only signed a month-long lease in Hartford, and had arranged for my stuff to be moved back to my permanent apartment in Florida when I'd gotten a contract. I had missed the ocean, and was looking forward to going back, if only for that. Tampa was the closest thing to a home I'd ever had, and though it really wasn't much of a home by most people's standards, I was looking forward to getting back.

The house show was an early one, starting at 5pm so that we could get out of New Mexico and back to wherever we were going as early as possible. Phil and I agreed to ride to the airport together—he was going back to Chicago to visit Colt Cabana for the two days he had off—so despite the fact that my match was first up, I would have to wait until the end of the show to leave, but that didn't bother me. My flight wasn't until nine anyway. And it was well worth the extra time at the arena to avoid the bus ride to the airport.

My match with Eve was a short one, a redeemer more than anything. The Bellas were banned from ringside, something that obviously the fans wouldn't understand, not having seen the last match that I had against the woman where I lost from interference. I was furious with Eve still, despite seemingly having put our issues aside when outside of the ring, and I destroyed her in very little time.

I was just getting ready to exit the ring when Beth Pheonix's music hit, and I prepared for another fight. _But if she'd wanted to attack me, she could have done it while I was occupied with Eve _I thought in confusion, _so what the fuck is she doing out here now?_

"I just wanted to thank you for making my job so much easier for Sunday Amber… Seriously, Eve's gonna be even less competition than usual now." She smiled evilly at me.

_Alright, if you want to play games, I'll play them right back_ I thought, annoyed that she was trying to get in my head. "No problem Beth. But just so you know, I only did that because I want to take the title from you, not from anyone else. It just seems so much more fitting that I get to be the one to take you off your throne, don't you think?"

She growled at me. She legitimately growled. It was almost comical. "We'll see." she said pathetically, before stomping off.

"Yeah, we will. How's your head by the way?" I asked her retreating form sarcastically. I didn't get a reply, nor was I expecting one, but I got the parting shot, and that's what mattered.

The fans cheered, and I attempted to exit the ring once again, this time doing so uninterrupted. I walked right past a glaring Natalya, knowing I'd have to deal with her later but not worrying about it too much at the moment.

CM Punk and Sheamus teamed up to face Christian and Mark Henry for the main event in a bout that pitted many of the world title contenders against each other. It was a pretty good match overall, despite the fact that Sheamus ended up getting pinned by Mark Henry while Punk and Christian brawled on the outside. The fans certainly enjoyed it, regardless of the outcome.

When Punk came backstage again, he was sporting the beginnings of what would be a horrible black eye in the morning. "Damn." I said, impressed in what might have been misinterpreted as slightly sadistic.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I've always liked the raccoon look personally. I think it suits me."

"It's definitely..." I sought for an adjective for a moment before coming up with the perfect one "Striking."

He rolled his eyes before going to change. We got the hell out of dodge soon after, hauling ass to the airport in the hopes of avoiding traffic. We didn't quite succeed, but we still beat the bus out of the arena by a good hour.

Once at the airport, we sat around waiting for our flights for a bit together before his flight was called. He was scheduled to take off at eight, so I would have some time to kill alone before I could board, but I didn't really mind. We said our goodbyes. "Have fun at your media shoot!" I said sarcastically.

"Yeah," he responded in an equally sardonic tone, "I can't wait. I'm looking forward to meeting the fans though. That's always fun."

I nodded. "See you Sunday."

He made a laughable face at me before nodding and starting to walk to his gate. I watched his retreating form until he was out of sight, not entirely sure why I was doing so. _We're friends, _I reasoned, _it's natural that I'm gonna miss him. Especially since I don't really have that many friends to begin with. _

I somehow knew that I was overlooking something in that explanation, but once again couldn't quite put my finger on the pulse of what exactly I wasn't admitting to myself. _Oh well, something to think about while sitting on a beach under a palm tree I suppose. _

A/N: Yes, I know it's rather short. (Or is it? I'm not entirely sure). But this was actually a logical place to leave it, and it means that I can give you an update today rather than on Saturday which will be the next time after the next ten minutes that I'll have time to write. I'm really looking for reviews in this chapter guys, mainly on the shoot so I can figure out if I'm doing the in-ring dialogue well enough. (On a side note, I'm going to start training at a wrestling facility soon, and my main character is pretty much gonna be my ring persona for now, so any feedback on the character would be seriously appreciated.)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: This is probably gonna be a short chapter guys. Sorry about that, but I'm super busy getting ready to leave for Miami in a couple days. I'm gonna meet CM Punk! I can't wait! The good news is, it's a 22-something hour car ride, so I'm probably going to be doing a lot of writing. Which means you guys will get a lot of chapters soon hopefully.

A/N #2: Someone asked me for a description of Amber in their review, which made me realize I really hadn't given much of anything in terms of one, except for a brief overview in the opening chapter(s). And since I'd have a hard time incorporating it into the story now without it being extraordinarily awkward, I figured I'd post it here instead: 5'9", light brown hair, hazel eyes, muscular build, picture a slightly emo look in terms of her clothes, but minus the makeup because she doesn't really go for makeup. She has a tattoo, but that will come up in later chapters, so I'm gonna make you guys wait on that one ;) And she has no visible piercings. Sorry I didn't include that earlier, it's one of the perils of a first-person writing style. If there's anything else you want to know, just let me know in a review.

And think about it I did. In fact, I probably spent way too much of my four days of vacation thinking about Phil Brooks, whether missing him and his snarky commentary, or wondering why I missed him so damn much.

Mid-day on Friday I got a text from him with one of the many pictures from his photo shoot. I had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn't be using that particular image however. Phil was standing in his ring gear on top of what looked like a very expensive car, (_why do they ALWAYS use cars in photo shoots that actually have nothing to do with cars?)_, sticking his tongue out absurdly and giving the cameras—and the poor bastard who was holding his phone taking the picture—the Stone Cold Salute.

I laughed my ass off for a moment then texted back. **Behave you… :P—Amber**

He responded, **Oh sure. Judge me. You're probably sitting on a fucking beach right now. – Punk**

I was in fact sitting on a beach. **Guilty. Stalker. . - Amber**

**How's vacation treating you? Jealous by the way. – Punk **

I had to think over my answer for a moment before deciding to just be honest. **I'd rather be on the road. – Amber**

**Miss me that much? ;) – Punk**

***eyeroll* Totally. That's exactly why. – Amber** Isn't it funny how often sarcasm conceals the truth? Although that was far from being the only reason I was looking forward to getting back on tour and leaving my quote-unquote home. As exhausting as that life was, I was growing increasingly restless without anything to do, even from only being stuck in the same place for a couple days. It was boring, and I ended up spending nearly all of my time at the gym anyway, which was much less interesting without a sparring partner, because I didn't have anyone to hit the ring with. On the plus side, however, I loved the climate of Florida, and got a chance to catch up on my sleep, which was always good.

**I knew it :P Well, at least you aren't being forced to pose for 235763623 photos. – Punk**

I laughed. **Life of a superstar. I want to be doing that, it means your at the top and people actually *want* to see you on the cover of…whatever the hell you're posing for. – Amber**

**Wanna switch places? – Punk**

I really didn't. As much as I wanted to do something like that that highlights the fact that you're at the top of the company, I really wasn't a big fan of photoshoots either. **That's not really how it works. I think someone would notice. :P Give 'em hell. I'll see ya in a couple days. – Amber**

**Ah, but we look so much alike… XP Meh. Alright. See ya soon—Punk**

I slipped my phone back into my absurdly large beach bag and made a beeline for the ocean. A long swim against the spectacular surf cleared my mind, just as I knew it was. The ocean had always been the closest thing I had to a home until I found my way into the ring, and even now it was an extremely close second. I fell into bed that night, blissfully too tired to think.

The next day passed far too slowly, but eventually Sunday morning arrived, and I flew out to Texas eagerly, glad to be heading back to the world I had grown to love even more since joining the WWE only a few weeks previously.

Arriving at the arena where the Night of Champions pay-per-view would take place, it didn't look any different than any other arena I'd seen. Of course it didn't. Somehow, though, it felt like it should. _Probably just my misplaced sense of priority needing to translate into appearance_, I mused as I wandered around.

I was fairly late in arriving, even though the show wouldn't start for several hours. Most of the Superstars were already there, warming up, working with the trainers, or, in some cases, begging to be a last minute addition to the card. None of the latter were successful, from what I heard.

I wasn't entirely sure what my role was, so I basically walked around, chatting with people as I saw them. I felt entirely out of place among the pay-per-view caliber talent, and for the first time since entering the WWE, I didn't really feel like I belonged. Rather, I felt like a school girl exploring the White House—like an observer who really had no business being in such a large and important place, but was pretending they did nonetheless. It was unsettling.

Eventually though, I started chatting with Randy Orton, and we fell into an easy pattern of small talk for a while. He seemed entirely calm, despite his title match, and the sense of normalcy he was exuding comforted me somewhat. I spotted Phil after a while though, and excused myself, wishing him luck, not that I thought the Viper would need it.

Phil was chipper, well, as chipper as he ever actually got. He relayed stories of the fans he had met yesterday, and his absurd outings with Colt Cabana. "Time off did you some good," I remarked.

"Well, having a title shot tonight doesn't hurt either" he reasoned.

"Ready to kick some ass?"

He smirked. "You better fucking believe it. I'm ready to win." He was already in his ring gear, and I could practically taste the excitement radiating off of him. Having held the title at FCW, I had some small idea of what he was feeling, but I had no concept of what it must feel like on such a broader scale, every emotion I felt leading up to those matches magnified ten, a hundred, a thousand percent. Yet if he was nervous, he didn't show it in the least. I'd always admired that about him, from the time I started watching wrestling on TV as a teenager. No matter who he was facing, no matter what the stakes were, no matter how hurt he obviously was, he never showed fear. He would glare at anyone from the smallest man on the roster to the strongest with burning defiance in his eyes, and make them believe he had ice running through his veins. It was something I tried to imitate in my own career, but of course, I could never do it quite as well as he could.

The matches drew nearer and the tensions grew more and more palpable. Phil and I retreated into a viewing room simply to avoid being in the warpath of some of the more hostile Superstars. Dolph Ziggler apparently went into a rage at Triple H about the fact that he wasn't in a match. I didn't see him for the rest of the night, so I assumed the King of Kings had put him back in his rightful place. I did, however, see Vickie Guererro later in passing, and she was talking to David Otunga while wearing a look that, to quote Tolkien, "could curdle new milk." That only confirmed my suspicions. Then again, she kind of always looks like that.

Eventually the TV in the viewing room began to play music, and the pay-per-view began. Zack Ryder's match was up first. Wade Barrett came out onto the stage looking absolutely furious, whether at Triple H or Zack Ryder no one knew, but it ended up being his downfall. He made one stupid mistake while fueled by anger, and Zack capitalized with a Rough Ryder for the win. Phil and I both cheered when the referee's hand hit the mat for the third time, glad Zack had gotten what he deserved, finally.

Phil's match was last on the card, but he left me at this point, saying he wanted some time to meditate before the match. I got that, and wished him luck.

The women's match was up next, and as Beth came down to the ring, Josh Matthews came into my viewing room and asked if he could interview me after the match. I agreed, and he waved the cameras in. _I guess I'm gonna have my pay-per-view segment after all,_ I thought wryly. I didn't mind interviewing, but it wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

Beth dominated the match. I could see her hesitating at moments, presumably to prolong the match, but there was no question of who was in control the entire time. When it was over, she predictably still held the belt, and Eve seemed injured, or at least feeling the effects of the intensely physical bout.

Josh signaled me that the interview was starting. "Amber, what do you think of the results of the match?"

I smirked. "Josh, I couldn't care less who won. I can beat either of them. Although I have to say, destroying Beth Pheonix will be fun." My smirk transformed into a slightly sadistic grin.

"You seem to have picked an interesting person to challenge, especially for a rookie. What was your reasoning for that?"

I shrugged. "Honestly, I saw no point in starting at the bottom when I know I can easily beat the top. Not to mention, I stand by what I said on Monday: I can't stand hypocrites."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "You're still very new to the WWE. How do you plan to get a title shot?"

"I'm a patient person," I replied. "I'll earn a shot at the belt one way or another, but no matter how or when I get there, it will be through hard work, and because I am good enough to deserve a chance, and I'll make sure everyone knows it." I walked off camera, signaling the end of the interview. I didn't really plan on leaving the room, but the interview had to end somehow.

The next match had commenced by the time Josh Matthews and his camera crew had departed. Kofi Kingston was defending the United States title against Hunico. It was a good match, unsurprisingly, given that Kofi was in action. After a few high-flying moves, however, Hunico was winded and couldn't really keep up. Kofi pinned him after a Trouble in Paradise, and that was it. I don't think anyone actually expected Hunico to capture the title, but he was the closest thing to a Number One Contender who had presented himself a few weeks before the pay-per-view, and every title had to be defended. Regardless, they had put on a decent match.

A quick promo video and a mention of WWE's sponsors killed a few minutes so the fans could leave their TVs without fear of missing something critical, then the World Heavyweight Championship match was announced.

Randy Orton, the champion, joined Sheamus, Christian, and Mark Henry in the ring, and just as the referee was gesturing for the bell to be rung, Motorhead hit and out came Triple H. He declared that due to the intensity of the recent feuds, the match would now be a no-disqualification match. The crowd cheered, excited at the new development. Stipulation matches, especially ones that affected more than just the number of competitors in the ring, were always exciting.

All the competitors donned sadistic smiles at the news, but the grin on Randy Orton's face was particularly disturbing. You could almost see the violence he was planning to inflict on his fellow competitors if you looked deep enough into his fiendish eyes. Frankly, however, I didn't want to. The look he wore suggested exactly how dangerous his mind was, and I didn't much relish the idea of delving into its inner workings. The Viper was coiled, and I was sure, in that moment, that the match was already decided.

It turns out, however, that I was very much mistaken. Randy dominated the early parts of the matchup, but when all was said and done it was Christian who emerged from the carnage as the victor and new champion. It was ultimately his skill as a strategist rather than his skill in the ring that allowed him to win the title, but a win is a win, regardless of how you get it. He had crawled out of the ring when the match began, and had been all but forgotten as the three remaining men had worked methodically to destroy each other. Finally, when Sheamus had taken a World's Strongest Slam, and Mark Henry had been RKO'ed straight into a steel chair, Christian had rejoined the fray, delivering a Killswitch to a battered and unsuspecting Randy Orton, who was in the process of covering an unconscious Sheamus at the time. The shock factor, and the effectiveness of his one move, executed perfectly since he had not expended any energy yet, was enough to get him the win. _And we will never hear the end of it,_ I thought dully as his music hit. I liked Christian more than most of the heels on the roster, but nonetheless. He would probably be almost as bad as Daniel Bryan was during what I like to call 'the era of the YES!'.

The tag team championship match was infinitely less thrilling. It was, in essence, a massacre. The Miz and, speak of the devil, Daniel Bryan, were both former World Champions of one sort or another. Santino and R-Truth were decent wrestlers, and very entertaining, but there was no contest in terms of skill level or experience. There was no way the titles were changing hands, and no one was surprised when they did not. There were, however, many murmers of disappointment from the crowd.

Finally the WWE championship was ready to be contested. I found myself on the edge of my seat as Punk entered the ring. He was the last of the three to enter, and the match began almost immediately after.

The match went back and forth, and back and forth again as the momentum shifted around between the three men. Tense moments ran rampant through the match as near-fall after near-fall got broken up by the third man in the ring. I found my hands clenched into fists as the intensity of the match took hold of me. The outcome, however, ended up embodying the worst of all possible scenarios, short of a serious injury. Alberto Del Rio capitalized on Punk's distraction after Punk knocked Cena out of the ring with an amazing kick to the temple while Cena stood on the apron, allowing Del Rio to lock in the cross-arm breaker, and ending the match in a submission.

I sank back into my seat, not even sure of when I'd stood, slumped in defeat. I felt I had much more of a stake in the mach than I actually did, but knowing that rationally didn't quell the feeling of extreme disappointment. Naturally I felt bad for Phil, and for John Cena to a lesser extent, but I also felt a sense of dread in terms of what the now three-time WWE champion would bring to the table.

I didn't see Phil again until we met to go back to the hotel considerably later that night. We actually left after the bus did for the first time. "You alright?" I asked carefully once we were belted in.

He shrugged. "Six seconds or six months. I shouldn't have let myself get distracted, but I'll get him next time. I just hope Cena wins his rematch. I don't want to listen to Del Rio's 'destiny' bullshit until Hell in a Cell rolls around."

I groaned, having momentarily forgotten Del Rio's tendency to go off on long schpeels about his supposed 'Destiny'. "Agreed."

The rest of the ride was silent, and I could tell Phil was thinking over every moment of his match, probably trying to learn from his errors. That or he was plotting Alberto Del Rio's sudden and…unfortunate…demise. Either way. I fell into a state of sullen pondering after important losses as well, and knowing how torturous it could get, I offered to take him to dinner to get his mind off things, but he refused. I didn't press the matter. Sometimes it's better to just get the brooding period out of the way rather than putting it off and having it hang over your head as a silent inevitability.

Since tomorrow's Raw would be held in the same arena as tonight's pay-per-view (for some reason that no one really understood; they almost never did that), we got to spend the night peacefully at the hotel instead of moving on immediately. In fact, we would be here for two nights, since the Raw roster had Tuesday off. Tuesday night would be spent on the road, but until then we got the opportunity to avoid the busses.

I attempted to sleep as soon as I got in, but the sleep I was looking for stubbornly avoided me. I'd slept a fair amount during my time off, however, so it wasn't really unsurprising, or that much of an issue. _You can sleep when you're dead_, I reminded myself dryly, settling in for a long night of watching crappy late-night TV.

A/N: It's really short, and yet, I think it took the longest time out of all the chapters so far to type up. Probably because I'm so distracted. Anyway, let me know what you think. I'll probably update again between Wednesday and Friday.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Well, as usual, I didn't update as planned. Most of the time in the car that I was planning on writing I either ended up driving or there was too much of a glare to see the screen, so my plans got completely thrown to hell. Then yesterday I met CM Punk, and, as you can probably imagine, I was in way too much of a frenzy to do much of anything productive. I have to say, just on a complete side note, that he is an amazing human being, and the things he said to me will never be forgotten.

A/N #2: Also, on a story-related note, I realized that the dates for the 2012 pay per views are innacurate, as well as some of the character alliances (ie Beth and Natalya no longer seem to associate with each other, and other such things). Some of those things I could have fixed if I'd planned more carefully, but since it is fanfiction after all, it's just gonna end up being a bit AU in that sense. It's difficult to write a story set in the future and keep up with all the week-to-week storyline shifts.

Alright, onto the story now, I promise.

When morning rolled around, I went for an early swim before the pool inevitably filled up with screaming children and eager vacationers. I didn't really have a problem with either group, but they make it very difficult to swim laps, especially in peace.

Once people began showing up, I got the hell out of dodge. A quick breakfast was followed by a long stint in the hotel gym working on cardio.

I had time for a quick shower efore heading out to the arena. Phil seemed in a much better mood, and you could tell he was entirely focused on the future, not on the past.

Beth Pheonix actually opened the show, which was practically unheard of. She jabbered on about how she was still champion, and how there wasn't a single woman on the roster, new or otherwise, who could challenge her.

Afte ra while, it just became too sickening to listen to. Despite my original intention to stay out of Beth's way tonight, I grabbed a microphone and moved onto the stage area, my music beginning to blast a few seconds before the fans came into view.

I made sure to climb all the way into the ring before saying anything, so I wouldn't give the impression of being a coward. Beth stared at me with fire in her eyes, but said nothing. "Honestly Beth, I think I speak for absolutely everyone in this arena when I say that no one cares what you have to say. You're an egomaniacal hypocrite who likes spouting off self-important crap because it makes you feel better about being a fraud. Congratulations, we get it. Now can we please move onto something slightly more interesting than listening to you talk? Because I'd honestly rather watch paint dry than have to hear one more word come out of your big mouth."

She bitchslapped me. The funny thing was, I was actually kind of getting used to it. "Who, exactly, do you think you are?" Beth asked furiously.

"Who, me?" I looked around innocently before lowering my tone and narrowing my eyes. "I'm the person who's going to take that title away from you. I would say 'along with your dignity', but that would require you to have some to begin with."

Natalya's music hit, and I found myself trapped between two very angry women. "Oh yeah?" Natalya asked. "You and what army?"

I wasn't expecting what happened next, so when Tamina's music hit just as I was opening my mouth to say something along the lines of 'who needs an army?' I didn't quite know whether I was looking at a friend or a foew in the woman who had just stepped onto the stage. At least, I didn't until she spoke.

She whipped Natalya around by putting her hand firmly on the woman's shoulder. "I will make you pay twice over for every day, every match I missed because of you." I'd forgotten that Natalya had caused Tamina's quadricep tear that kept her out of action for many months. She looked up at me. "So, what do you think Amber? Think we can handle them?"

"Definitely" I smirked at Beth and Natalya, who were both looking infinitely more nervous than they had been when they'd outnumbered me. _They're like fucking schoolyard bullies_ I couldn't help but think to myself as I smiled at Tamina, who made her way unobstructed to the ring, as Beth rolled out on the other side to join Natalya on the stage. Tamina and I shook hands, and though I didn't quite know to what extent this new partnership would reach, it seemed to be an encouraging development. Tamina had been injured for so long that I'd almost forgotten about her, but now that she was back I realized that she was pretty much the only woman on the roster who I respected. She wasn't a big one for talk, but damn could she fight, and she really didn't bother with any of the frivolous bullshit that most of the "Divas" seemed to base their careers off. A partnership with her could be mutually beneficial, and I was willing to go with it until it proved to be otherwise.

I didn't have much more time to muse on the new development, however, because Triple H entered to his blaring music. Never having seen his entrance that up close and personally before, it was quite the experience. In terms of current wrestlers, only the Undertaker had a more striking entrance, so I was stunned momentarily. But the moment he began to speak I broke out of my reverie. "Well ladies," he said, smirking, "I have to admit, you've actually created an interesting situation here. And as much as I think everyone would like to see a cat fight right here, right now, I don't think that would be the best use of this kind of opportunity. So in four weeks, Beth, Natalya, you'll partner up to face Tamina Snuka and Amber Storm at Hell in a Cell."

Tamina and I smiled at each other, just as Beth and Natalya did the same thing. I grabbed Tamina's arm and raised our arms in solidarity. The "Divas of Doom" just kind of smirked at us, but the look in Beth's eyes said it all: she was visibly shaken by the idea of this upcoming match, which meant that she recognized us as a legitimate threat. She would never admit it, but she seemed to be questioning whether she had bitten off more than she could chew.

After a few more seconds of glaring at each other, Beth and Natalya retreated backstage, and Tamina and I followed a short time afterwards. Once we were off the stage and away from the cameras, Tamina guided me into a back room. My match wasn't for another hour, so we had some time. "Well, I guess I should thank you for the assist," I volunteered.

"You looked like you had it well under control. I just have business to finish with them, and it sure as hell seemed like you had business you wanted to start with them, so it seemed logical enough to work together. Also, I saw your promo last week, and I completely agree with everything you said. Most of the women on the roster don't have any self-respect, but I appreciate what you're trying to do, and I want to help, if I can." The sincerity was apparent in her voice, and I respected the hell of that. She wasn't the type of person to bother with false pretenses, and if anyone was going to join me in my campaign, she seemed like the perfect type to do it.

I nodded. "I appreciate that. I know I'm a rookie, and having a veteran like you in my corner can only help. And I'd be more than happy to have help taking the two of them off their goddamn pedestal. They deserve it."

"Agreed. Well, I guess I'll see you in the ring." She smiled at me, offered her hand, which I shook firmly, then she left me alone in the room with my thoughts.

_Well, sometimes plans change. _I reminded myself, as I mused that this development was not in line with my original intentions. _This could be good for both of us. And there's no harm in having help, as long as the help isn't planning on stabbing you in the back the second you turn around. _

Phil found me in the room, somehow or another, and I made a mental note to find out exactly how he was so good at finding my hidey-holes. "Well that was…interesting… to say the least." he remarked casually.

"That it was." I answered honestly, still somewhat thrown by the recent events.

He smirked. "Well, it'll make for a good match I think, assuming you and Beth don't end up killing each other in the interim."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, that might be a bit of an issue honestly."

"She's not THAT bad, you know….." he mentioned, and I noted the hesitation in his voice, wondering whether it was fueled by his friendship with the woman or by something else.

I shrugged. "I call them like I see them. From where I'm standing she's a self-righteous bitch who needs to be taken down a notch.:"

"She's not a bad person though," he pressed, clearly uncomfortable.

"Well, I don't know her as a person, I only know her as a wrestler. And in terms of who she is in the ring, I don't think I said a single thing that wasn't entirely true." I didn't want to step on anyone's toes, but I also couldn't figure out why Phil seemed almost determined to defend the woman.

"I guess…" he answered. "Anyway, I gotta find Orton and talk strategy for our match tonight. See ya later."

"See ya." I watched him go, then I realized that I might as well head down to the arena, since there was no point in sticking around any longer.

***Twenty Minutes Later***

The bell rang, and Alicia Fox lept at me. And I do mean lept. As in, she seemed like she was trying to imitate a gazelle for a minute there. The problem is, gazelles are graceful animals, but they aren't much good in a fight. The same could be said for Alicia.

The match was short, too short by my standards. I barely got my joints loosened up before the three countt.

When the bell rang again, the fans cheered, which surprised me since I'd just pulverized one of main faces of the women's division. _I guess the fans are ready for a change. That, or they're just intrigued. Well, I'll just have to keep them intrigued then. That should be easy enough. _

I didn't see any more of my adversaries, or my new ally, for the rest of the night. Randy Orton and CM Punk had a fantastic match against Alberto Del Rio and Christian, coming out on the winning end against the two champions, just proving that if the game were only one of skill and ability, the titles would not belong to their current holders. Unfortunately, skill is only a piece of the bigger puzzle when it comes to professional wrestling.

Once the matches were done, Phil and I headed back to the hotel as always. The majority of the night was passed in sleep, but some was spent deep in thought. I had to figure out how best to go about decimating my newest enemies in my path to a title shot, and how to keep my feud with Beth from getting in the way of my friendship with Phil, as it seemed to be slightly, at least today.

I didn't really come to many conclusions, but some more time in the gym the next day did me some good. Working out my frustrations against the current champion on the elliptical until my legs burned and I could barely draw breath allowed me to see more clearly. The feud was personal, but I needed to make it less so. Ultimately, my goal was to be champion, and I needed to keep that in mind, first and foremost. My own vendetta against Beth needed to go on the back burner if I was going to win the title, and keep the feud from spilling outside of the ring more than was absolutely necessary.

*24 hours later*

The bus ride was long and uneventful, and it deposited us at the next arena just in time to get ready for the night's house show. I was squaring off against Natalya, and each of us would have our Hell in a Cell tag-team partner in our respective corners. The very nature of the match promised to be chaotic, and I don't think anyone saw it ending in a clean win.

John Cena vs. Daniel Bryan was one of the night's best matches, with Cena ending up with the win as the result of a count out when Daniel decided he'd had enough of Cena, and ran away. It wasn't a satisfactory ending in and of itself, but the match had been impressive. Both men were impressive technicians, which meant that the match started out being mostly a contest of skill. That is, until Bryan's cowardly ways took over and ruined it. If nothing else, it opened the show on a high note.

A few mid-card matches came next, followed by my match. Tamina suggested we both enter to my music, to which I agreed, since I knew Beth and Natalya would be entering together. The match at the upcoming pay-per-view would be as much about mind games as it would about technical ability, and Tamina and I could only benefit from solidifying our appearance as a single tag team unit. As for why she wanted to use my music, and not the other way around, I could only assume it was supposed to be seen as her putting her support behind the rookie. It was, after all, my fight before she joined in.

Natalya seemed almost complacent in the ring, which disturbed me more than she could have if she had attacked me with all of her force. Then, inevitably, the other shoe dropped. Beth started yelling at the referee about a supposedly "bad" call when Natalya had pinned me for a one count after a meek but effective dropkick, and Natalya took advantage of the distraction to start launching a series of absolutely brutal, somewhat illegal, attacks. But her plan was interrupted when Tamina drew the referee's attention back to the match, resulting in Natalya getting disqualified for one of her particularly horrible face shots where she seemed hell-bent on knocking out some teeth. So I got the win, but not how I would have wanted. My in-ring celebration was minimal, since I didn't feel like I'd really won the match. The crowd, however, only seemed to see justice, and popped when the bell rang and my music hit.

When my partner and I walked backstage, Tamina sighed. "Damnit, that's not the kind of win that will get you anywhere. She's just gonna be angrier now."

"I don't care," I shrugged. "People who are angry make mistakes. And I can take her either way. It's her own damn fault she got disqualified anyway. If you don't want to lose by DQ, don't try to pull underhanded bullshit behind the referee's back. Idiot. Then again, if you hadn't been there, I might be mincemeat in the middle of the ring right now."

"I sincerely doubt that." Tamina answered. "You looked ready to handle it. I didn't step in because I thought she was gonna beat you up, I just wanted a clean ending."

_Could I have taken her?_ I pondered, thinking of the moment in the ring when Natalya went apes hit on me simply because she could. But in all of her anger and all of her aggression, she was sloppy. She was careless. And she made mistakes. _Yeah, I could have. _ That conclusion gave me confidence, especially since I wasn't always going to have someone in my corner.

"Anyway," she continued, apparently not noticing my momentary lapse in attention. "I was thinking… I know we probably aren't going to form a permanent tag team or anything, but for the next few weeks, why don't we pretend to? Like, you know how Natalya and Beth are always in each other's corner? We should do that too. Even when we're fighting against other people."

"Hmm.." I pondered, liking the sound of the idea. _Mind games. _I reminded myself. "Our own version of pin-up strong, eh? Except with a better name…"

She scoffed. "Yeah. Preferably one that doesn't make me want to puke."

"Fair enough…" I thought it over. We didn't really need a name, but it would be cool to have one. Every impression we gave of solidarity would help us in the long run. The less we looked like a tag team thrown together by coincidence and circumstance, the better off we were. Not to mention, the more we got to know each other's styles, the likelier we would be to pull off a win at Hell in a Cell. "How about the Warrior Women?"

She laughed. "Perfect. A little corny, but it'll work. Alright. I gotta run. See ya around. Good job tonight."

"Thanks for the assist." I said to her retreating form. I was liking the idea of having a 'partner in crime' as it were more an more. Not to mention, it was nice not to be at war with every single woman on the roster. I did still have two X chromosomes, and it would be nice to have a female….dare I say it…friend on the roster. Tamina seemed like she could easily get behind my change movement as well, she already looked and acted the part. All signs pointed to the partnership being a good thing.

That night on the bus, I sat down next to Phil as usual, but he seemed relatively sullen. "What's up?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

"So I hear you're allying with Tamina now… are you planning on stabbing her in the back too?" he asked, his tone a little harsher than it truly needed to be to get his point across.

I pretended I didn't notice the slight air of hostility, and decided to just answer the question. "She and I have decided that, for the moment, allying against a common enemy will be mutually beneficial. So no, I don't plan on betraying her. Worst comes to worst, the partnership dissolves after Hell in a Cell. Why/"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I just…" he paused, seemingly searching for words. "Beth's my friend, or at least she was before all of this, and now she's pissed at me just for hanging around you."

I tried not to show my annoyance at the other woman's juvenile bullshit. _Remember: keep it in the ring. _"I'm sorry about that…" I offered, and I was, although I wasn't sorry in the 'I accept that I'm at fault for this' sense, more in the 'that sucks and I'm sorry it happened because it's unfortunate' sense.

He shook his head. "No, it's not your fault, at least I don't think it is. I just don't really enjoy getting caught between other people's bullshit."

My flanks went up a little bit at that, but I pushed the part of me that was raring to get defensive and angry right back down to the depths of hell where it belonged. I didn't want to start an argument. "Well, I'm planning on keeping it in the ring as much as possible from now on, so it should be fine."

"Alright." he sighed. "I'm not pissed at you. I'm just pissed. Mainly at her, I guess, because I'm fucking allowed to have friends other than her. And she doesn't seem to get that. And at least you don't kick off about Beth in every single conversation we have, or any conversation besides ones directly related to in-ring strategy and shit like that, and that's kinda my job as your mentor…. " he trailed off, gathering his thoughts into a seemingly more cohesive bundle.

I took a deep breath, trying not to get even angrier at the woman for dragging Phil into the situation as deeply as she apparently had. That reaction on my part wouldn't solve anything, and ultimately would only contribute to the problem. Instead I gathered my thoughts as well, until I could come up with a response that wouldn't give away my deeper thoughts. "Why don't you try telling her that?" I suggested gently. When he shot me a dark look, I backtracked. "This has nothing to do with her and me. I'm just giving you a piece of friendly advice, not that I'm exactly the best person to talk about this kinda shit, but when someone pisses you off, it's better to tell them than to bottle it up."

"I just can't do that with her," he explained, the tension between us gone and replaced with the normal confines of friendship I had grown used to. The shift in atmosphere was tangible. "it's… complicated."

My head tilted involuntarily to the side in a gesture of confusion. "What do you mean:?"

He stared at me carefully for a moment. "This conversation stays between us, agreed? Nothing I say ends up in the ring."

I held his gaze with the same level of severity in which he held mine. "I promise. I wouldn't pull that bullshit anyway."

He half-smiled. "I know. She just… Don't get me wrong, I don't make friends with assholes. She's a good person. But she can be really sensitive sometimes. And when someone criticizes her, all hell can break loose. I don't particularly want to touch that with a ten foot pole."

"Ah." I responded, having known several people like that in my lifetime as well. "Fair enough."

"But," he continued, "on the other hand, you're right. I can't take the shit that's going on between her and I out on you.. You didn't fucking do anything besides what all of us who've ever gotten anywhere in this business has done- you pissed off a title holder, looking for a shot at the championship. And in your case, you're trying to change things that really need to be changed. I of all people can't really throw stones about that."

I laughed, slightly sardonically. "I've got a thick skin Punk, I can take it."

He looked into my eyes, this time without a hint of severity, instead his eyes were full of apology. "I know." he said quietly. "But you shouldn't have to. You've taken enough bullshit without anyone adding to it."

The conversation trailed off after that. There was really nothing to say. I was thrown a bit by Phil's very serious, somewhat off-topic response to what was supposed to be a flippant remark, and I think he was lost in thoughts of his own. On Raw you really only see the feisty, sarcastic, anti-hero side of him. But I was getting to know an entirely different side of him; one I had known existed since I caught a glimpse of the true fighter within him on a couple episodes of Raw, but now was beginning to see on a semi-regular basis. This side of him was gentle, caring, and fiercely protective. And while it made me somewhat uncomfortable sometimes, because he tended to blindside me with it underneath flippant comments and inane banter, and because I'd never experienced that from another human being before, it also gave me a sense of safety that I'd never felt before. And that, I decided, was why I always felt so safe around Phil. I knew that no matter what, he'd back me up. And if the shit really, truly, hit the fan like it had two years ago, and many years before that, there was finally someone who knew everything who would be there. And I owed him a debt of gratitude for that which I would never be able to repay.

Sentimental at the end, I know. But I'm also in a sentimental mood at the moment. Anyway, more to come soon hopefully, although I've learned better than to make any promises, especially when I'm 1500 miles away from my normal computer. Please review and let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

The overnight portion of the bus ride passed without event. However, around 9am, Phil got a phone call and muttered "Vince Fucking McMahon" incredulously before answering. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what the hell it could be about, but maintained a respectful silence throughout the duration of his phone call.

The part of the conversation I was able to hear told me nothing, except that Phil was pissed off at the astonishing amount of bureaucracy that ran rampant through the company. He ended with "Well it's about fucking time isn't it? I'm glad you finally figured that out." and hung up. "Fucking imbecile." He muttered.

"Erm… did you just hang up on Vince McMahon? And, perhaps more importantly, what the fuck was that about?" I asked, trying to avoid sounding shocked.

He shrugged, laughing. "He'll be pissed, and then he won't do anything about it. It's pretty simple. He can rant and rave about how much he hates me and wants to fire me, but ultimately his hands are tied. He likes to make money. I help him do that. Therefore, as much as he absolutely hates it and is determined to pretend otherwise, his only option when it comes to dealing with me is to bend over and take it. And it was actually good news, just a long time overdue. I'd been renegotiating my contract a few months ago, and he finally decided to sign it, and handle the things that I asked for. The main thing being a private bus."

My already elevated eyebrow shot up another couple millimeters at the first part of his statement, then I grinned at the second part. "Sick! Well, if nothing else it'll be more private, and you'll be able to avoid constant interactions with the assholes around here."

He smirked. "Damn fucking straight."

Suddenly, however, something struck me: Phil having his own bus meant that the already long and tedious bus rides would now be incredibly lonely as well. "Well, I have to say, I'll miss having you around on these stupid overnight rides. It's been nice having a fellow insomniac to converse with."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "The fuck are you talking about? You're riding with me. That is, assuming you want to…"

A bubble of excitement rose up inside me, but I worked hard not to let it show beyond the tip of the iceberg. "Yeah, I'd love to!" I exclaimed, imagining spending nights on a bed or a pull-out couch instead of in a hard chair, being able to turn on lights without fear of waking anyone up, and being able to move about freely. All of a sudden the cross-country travel seemed a lot more appealing.

"Well, the bus is gonna meet us at the house show tomorrow, so this is gonna be the last night of this bullshit. Although I have to say, I can't fucking believe it took him three months to figure out whether or not he wanted to sign the contract. He waited about as long as he possibly could. My current contract expires in a couple weeks, not that I was planning on leaving, again."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course he did, though. It's a classic power play. I don't know much about him but I do know a lot about executive assholes who care more about asserting their authority than using it properly."

Phil laughed. "Yep, that about sums him up. At least Hunter is accessible, and he doesn't throw his weight around just for the sake of it. The company WILL be better when Vince McMahon's dead, after all that."

The rest of the ride passed torturously slowly, mainly because of the anticipation of never having to deal with the accursed tour bus again. And because most of the time it's fucking impossible to sleep under circumstances like that. The night had already passed, and the sunlight put the nail in the coffin in terms of getting any rest before the show.

When we did get to the arena, we had more than enough time to kill, so Phil, Kofi Kingston, Tamina, and I all headed out to a nearby restaurant to grab a late lunch/ early dinner before the show. It turns out Kofi was one of Phil's closer friends, and he added an unsurprisingly fun presence to our meal. Tamina, in a slightly less predictable manner, also ended up being a good conversationalist, and an entertaining dinner partner. I could see myself becoming friends with both of them in the future easily enough. Tamina and I planned for her match against Eve tonight (who apparently wasn't as badly injured as she'd seemed at the end of her Night of Champions match), and just chatted randomly about other things. It turns out that we have similar enough tastes in music—mainly alternative—that we would have had plenty to talk about in that category alone.

Meanwhile Phil and Kofi joked around with each other for a while, then Phil ribbed Kofi incessantly when he began to flirt slightly with our—admittedly very attractive, in a I'm very much straight kind of way—waitress. "Well at least he can flirt with a woman without scaring her away" I remarked, gesturing at Phil's tattoos and lip ring, both of which tended to send women in the other direction, for a reason I really couldn't understand.

"Yeah, yeah, women don't particularly like things like that. I get it." He smirked, making light of the situation, although from the slight tone shift in his voice I wondered if I'd hit a sore spot.

_I do_…_. _I thought randomly before backtracking rapidly. _Wait, what? What the fuck? _I took a long gulp of my nearly-frozen iced tea to cover the blush I felt creeping onto my cheeks. _ I meant self expression like that, in general… I'm not attracted to Phil… Of course not. That's ridiculous. _

The conversation had moved on by the time I rejoined it, after convincing myself that my subconscious had decided to butt in with it's unwanted remark regarding 'things like that,' not regarding the man sitting across the table from me.

*Three hours later*

I didn't bother putting on ring gear—I didn't have a match tonight— but I was standing by the stage entrance nonetheless, ready to kick ass if necessary. Eve would, no doubt, find some way to throw a wrench in things, simply for her own sick amusement. I came in anticipating that. Black cargo pants and combat boots contrasted with the red lettering on my t-shirt that read simply "FIGHTER" across the bust. Gloves on, I warmed up slightly just in case I ended up having to punch somebody out.

My…our… music hit first and we came out to an amazing pop from the fans, who apparently liked the pairing quite a bit. Then came Eve, accompanied by the Bella Twins. _Christ Almighty, I thought that shit was done_. _Apparently not, I guess. _

Tamina made quick work of Eve, although I didn't really get to see as much of the match as I would've liked. About ten seconds after the bell rang, the twin devils came over to the corner of the outside where I was standing and decided to double-team me. I wasn't exactly in the mood.

I fought us back up onto the ramp, not wanting it to spill anywhere near Tamina's actually legitimate match, then I just let loose. Some high kicks, strong punches straight to the face since there was no referee to stop me, and a Storm Front were the highlights on my end. I did, however, get clotheslined nicely before I saw it coming, and expected a lovely goose egg to show for it in the morning. By the time Tamina's match was over, my head was spinning nicely, but there was no question of whether or not she and I could clean house as a tag team. I had just taken out two opponents in short order, and she, from the looks of things, had absolutely demolished Eve.

I climbed into the ring to raise her hand in victory, headache already blossoming nicely and promising to be an absolute bitch within an hour, but I was entirely unwilling to let that show. Inside that ring, in front of those people, and especially when opponents, current and future, are watching, there is no weakness.

When we reached the top of the stage I grabbed her wrist and raised her hand again, pointing to her as the crowd cheered. Eve was just beginning to groan slightly when we got off the stage, and the Bellas were still laying, stunned, on the ramp. In fact, we had had to step over them in order to get off the stage. It was a very gratifying moment. They weren't fucking around with me backstage anymore, but I didn't particularly want to encourage random assaults either, and I was fairly sure I'd gotten my point across and made them, and every woman in the locker room with half a brain (_granted, that may not be the best phrase to make the point_) not to screw around with me, inside the ring or out of it. If you can't win in a sneak attack when it's two on one, it might be a better idea to just stay the fuck out of the way.

Once we were backstage, Tamina led me to her locker room, which was blissfully abandoned. "Perk of my father being in the business. Everything I've gotten in the middle of that ring I've earned, but I do get a couple of benefits backstage. Like a private locker room."

"Well that's fucking convenient." I said, thinking of the bitch level in my own locker room. "I'm sharing with Eve and the Bellas."

She groaned. "Damn. Well, feel free to come in here if you ever want to. I don't mind sharing as long as I'm not sharing with a total psycho bitch. Speaking of psycho bitches, what the fuck happened out there?"

I laughed darkly. "Yeah, you missed some interesting shit in your last couple weeks of recovery. I had a massive feud with them for a while, almost entirely on just a personal level, it made it to the ring but only in house shows, and it didn't last too long because I was pretty sure I'd made my point and I wanted to move onto bigger and better things. Clearly I didn't make the point well enough."

"Damnit. Well, you whooped ass out there. I was impressed. Every time I looked over there you had one of them in the air and the other on the ground. "

I wasn't gonna comment on how I hadn't exactly come out on top at every moment in that brawl, mainly because I was content with the overall result—it's fucking professional wrestling, if you don't want to get beat up, play chess or something—and I also didn't know Tamina well enough to feel comfortable with that. She seemed like a perfectly nice person, and I definitely expected us to become friends, maybe even close friends, but we weren't there yet, and I wasn't quite ready to broadcast moments of weakness. Instead, I said "well, they pissed me off, and ultimately, that's just a bad idea."

She smirked. "I never would have guessed. Well, even their skulls aren't thick enough to miss that message, and even if they don't get it, clearly you're capable of kicking their asses. So, what are you doing with your days off?"

The entire roster had Friday and Saturday off, but no one was going home unless they happened to live in, or very near, Norfolk Virginia, which is where Sunday's house show would be. Some of the time would be spent, inevitably, travelling between Grand Rapids Michigan and Norfolk, which was about a 12 hour drive, then the rest we would have to ourselves.

"I'll probably spend most of it in the gym," I replied honestly. "Wouldn't want to get out of shape, you know?"

She nodded. "Yeah, me too. You're riding with Punk, right?"

"Yep." I answered, looking forward to the private bus already.

"Lucky," she said enviously, "that's one perk I didn't get, at least not yet. Anyway, most of us are staying overnight here, then heading out tomorrow night, so we won't get in until Saturday morning, but if you want to, we should get together and spar for a bit Saturday night or something, get a feel for each other's styles and stuff, you know?"

As much as I was looking forward to teaming with the woman in front of me, I really didn't want a female sparring partner of the permanent variety. However, she had a good point. We should do it at least once. The only way to truly get to know someone else's style was to feel it up close and personally. "Alright," I agreed, trying to figure out a tactful way to explain that it really couldn't be a regular occurrence, but deciding to work that out later. If nothing else, it really doesn't hurt to have more than one potential partner anyway. It's good to work out with people with different strengths, it helps to keep you on your toes.

Soon after, I excused myself so Tamina could get changed in privacy. She didn't say anything indicating that she wanted me to leave, but I hated hanging around in my disgusting, sweaty ring gear after a match, and I assumed she was the same way. Not to mention my head was beginning to pound horribly, and my vision was clouding and warping, giving me the signal that a five-alarm migraine was in it's beginning stages. I gingerly felt the back of my head, and winced when my hand touched the bump that had already grown practically to the size of a full-term baby. "Fuck." I muttered harshly, praying to a deity that I didn't actually believe in that I didn't have a concussion. _I really don't have time for that shit. At all. _

I gave up on doing anything productive about thirty seconds later when the room began to look like it was sitting on a very violent playground swing, sinking down onto a bench and figuring that Phil would find me eventually with his creepy intuition thingy. I didn't quite fall asleep, but I did zone out to the point of semi-consciousness where I just stared at the colors dancing behind my eyes and hoped beyond all reasonable hope that the pounding behind my eyes would stop soon.

*Some time later*

"Amber, you awake?" I heard Phil's voice but it seemed muffled, as if it was being projected through a pillow or something.

I groaned in response, opening my eyes despite every protest that my body gave me in a failed attempt to demonstrate to me what a bad fucking idea that was. "Uhuh."

My bag was next to me, and when I stood up, getting ready to grab it, I nearly fell over when a wave of dizziness hit me. I sat back down. "The fuck happened to you?" Phil asked, kneeling down in front of me, looking me over.

"Nothing. I stood up too fast." I lied, attempting to stand up again.

He pushed me back down. "Bullshit."

I wasn't in the mood to argue. I wasn't in the mood to speak actually, but arguing would require more speaking than explaining, so I decided to go with the latter. I squeezed my eyes shut. "I took a clothesline on the outside when I was tagging along for Tamina's match. The Bella's ambushed me, and I took the fall wrong. Landed on my head. Not like there's anything important in there. Can we go now?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yet you continued to beat the shit out of them, then once the match was over it didn't occur to you to go see the trainer, who's probably left by now?"

I shook my head, before realizing that that too was an incredibly bad idea. "I'm fine. End of story."

"Uhuh," he said, giving me the patented _you're full of shit _look. "I don't remember you normally walking around like you're drunk off your ass and falling halfway asleep on a bench in the middle of a hallway. So, you've got two options. Hospital now, or trainer when the other busses get to Norfolk."

I rolled my eyes. "Difficult choice there. Seeing as how I don't fucking need a hospital, I'll go with the latter, although ten bucks says I'm fine anyway."

"Sure you are." Phil said patronizingly. I tried to stand again, and he let me, although he grabbed my arm when I started to sway again. "You're absolutely, fucking, fine."

If I hadn't been able to hear the concern so clearly in his voice, even through the fog that was muddling all my thoughts, I would've gotten pissed, but I just couldn't bring myself to get angry.

We made it onto the bus, although how exactly that happened was something of a mystery. I don't remember anything besides somehow or another ending up on a bed, and Phil telling me to sleep. Then getting woken up what seemed like every few seconds. That sucked. It was far from the first time, but it still sucked.

I slept, as much as Phil would let me in between wake-ups, all the way to Norfolk. Then I somehow got checked into my hotel room, and slept some more, Phil still checking in on me and bringing me buckets of ice frequently. By the time night fell, I was feeling somewhat better. My mind had cleared up, although the headache hadn't. At least I could think, speak, and stand, without feeling and appearing entirely intoxicated.

Finally, around eight, Phil left my room, telling me to call or text him if I needed anything, and if not to meet him in the morning to go see the trainer. He insisted on going with me to make sure I went. _Too damn smart for his own good that one, and he can read me like a book._ But I couldn't be annoyed at him. He'd been incredibly sweet, and being in what was practically a mini-coma and trying to fend for myself would've been practically impossible. I thanked him profusely before he left. He shrugged "what are friends for?," winked, and left.

I didn't sleep more that night, but I dozed in spurts, and the next morning came around to reveal that the worst of the symptoms had resolved themselves. I had a lingering headache, but it was way better than it had been, and the small infant on the back of my head had reduced itself back to the size of a golf ball.

The better news, however, came after I saw the trainer. He checked me over thoroughly, and listened to Phil's account of the past twenty-four hours. Eventually he declared that while it had probably been a slight concussion, the majority of the symptoms were exacerbated by lack of sleep, and assuming things continued to trend for the better, I'd be cleared to compete on Monday, which was the next time I had a match anyway. The only unfortunate parts were that, first of all, I would have to call of my sparring session with Tamina, and second of all, I would have to go through the process of getting checked all over again on Monday afternoon. _Whatever, I can still fight, that's what matters_, I reminded myself, trying to see the good news rather than the bad. It would be fine.

A/N: Two chapters in one day! Well, one 24 hour period at least. Sorry to end it there guys, but I'd just crossed over the 3K mark, which I see as the absolute bare minimum for a chapter, and I'm too tired to keep going. Anyway, please review!


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Well, here we go with chapter thirteen. I'm hoping to have a lot of time to write today since I'm heading back to MA over the next couple days, but who knows. It all depends on how much of the driving I have to do. Regardless, thanks for all the reviews!

As soon as Phil and I left the trainer's makeshift "office"- they weren't exactly set up all that well at the arena yet- I sent a text to Tamina letting her know I wouldn't be able to work out tonight, and explained why in brief. She texted back **Damn, and you still kicked their asses. Impressive. Glad you're cleared for Raw. That's really what's important anyway. - Tamina**

"I told you I was fine," I joked as we got in the car. "I've got a thick fucking skull anyway."

"Clearly," he responded dryly while smirking at me. "And I wouldn't say 'fine', I'd just say 'goddamn lucky it wasn't worse."

I had to agree with that. After 24+ hours of being completely useless, 'lucky' was more accurate than 'fine'. The timing just happened to work out that I wouldn't miss any matches, which was really good considering I didn't think Vince McMahon would take that too well only a few weeks after my entrance into the company. "Touche. And by the way, thanks again. I would have been well and truly fucked if you hadn't been there."

"Don't worry about it" he shrugged. "I've dealt with that a few different times personally, and it absolutely blows."

My stomach growled, and I realized the last time I'd eaten anything significant was at lunch the night of the house show. That was dangerous, especially for me, because it brought back memories that could start me back on a path I had no desire nor time to be on. "Let's find some food." I suggested, trying to silence the small earthquake in my intestines.

He grinned. "Fuck yes. It's about damn time you ate something anyway."

We found a nice organic restaurant , and although we had to go over the river and through the woods to get there, it was completely worth it. Once we were seated, we started chatting. Out of the blue, Phil asked "So, do you have any tattoos?"

I blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You know, the things covering practically every square inch of my body?" he joked. "I just realized I had no idea."

"Random much?" I smirked. "Actually I don't, but I really want to get one. I'm just terrified of going by myself because I don't want to end up in some…unsavory… place."

He contemplated that for a moment. "Well, the tour is going through Chicago at some point. I know a lot of good places there that I could take you to, probably get you a discount too. What do you want to get?"

"The Japanese symbol for 'fighter'. I've thought about it forever but I'd never really been able to pull my balls out of my purse and just do it, mainly because with my luck I'd end up in some shit hole and die of ink poisoning."

"Yeah, that would suck" he laughed. "Where you gonna get it?"

"I'm not sure," I confessed, "which is one of the other reasons I never really got around to doing it. I thought about getting both my wrists done at one point, to cover up the scars, but I eventually decided that I'm not ashamed of them. I am who I am because of what I've come through, and I don't feel like I need to hide that, at least not in such a permanent way. I'm thinking either my ankle or shoulder blade."

He nodded understandingly to my first statement, and for a moment I was struck with how interesting it was to be able to bring something like that up in conversation and have it be normal enough that no one had to double-take, and it didn't become awkward. That was just the nature of our friendship, I guess. "Well, it depends whether or not you'd rather see it, or have it be visible in the ring."

I contemplated that for a moment. "I'll go with my ankle I think. I'd rather see it. And who knows, maybe once I lose my tattoo virginity I'll turn into you and end up with tattoos everywhere."

He laughed. "Somehow I doubt that. But who knows?"

"Girls can express themselves too, you chauvinist pig!" I said incredulously, joking around with him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I just don't see you as the type to have ink everywhere. You'd be better off with just a few that really mattered."

"Fair enough. Good save, by the way. I was about to hand you a shovel so you could dig that hill more effectively." I winked at him jokingly.

"Yeah, I'm a champion hole-digger. I don't really even need a shovel. I guess that's what happens when you don't have a filter between your head and your mouth. Shit spills out."

I raised an eyebrow. "…so to speak," he added quickly, and we both laughed.

Lunch passed too quickly, and when we headed back to the hotel, I was somewhat sad to part ways with Phil. He was headed to the gym for some lifting, and I was banned from any physical activity until Monday. Frustrated by that development, I headed instead to the pool area. It was just at the point of being too cold to swim, but it was plenty warm enough to sit in the sun and read, which I did for quite a while.

Eventually Tamina sent me a text asking if I wanted to meet up for a late dinner, and I agreed. I had a good two hours before we were going to meet, so I hung out around the pool for a while longer before getting ready and heading down to meet her.

Dinner passed smoothly, and was fairly enjoyable. We planned out what we would do during her match tomorrow, given that I couldn't get involved. If anyone else at ringside decided to play games, I was absolutely fucked. She said she'd handle it if something started to go down, but I refused to be a liability in terms of her match, so I told her I'd sit that one out. Selling our team's legitimacy to the fans at a house show wasn't all that important, and I sincerely doubted that Tamina would find herself attacked by the other Bella twin. Reluctantly, Tamina agreed with that plan. I apologized profusely for not being able to be there for her, but she waved me off, citing the ever-popular "shit happens."

That night was a restless one, probably because I'd slept so damn much recently. Nothing on TV was even appealing enough to have on in the background, so I put on some music and wrote for a long time.

Sooner or later morning rolled around, and turned into afternoon, and soon Phil and I were pulling up to the arena, much to the chagrin of many of the on looking Superstars. I smirked and winked at some of the bigger assholes for no other reason than because I was just in the mood to be a dick, and we went inside.

Phil and I parted ways almost immediately; his match was up first and we were tiptoeing on the line of running late. "Hey," he said, grabbing my arm and turning me around as I began to walk towards Tamina's locker room where I would watch the night's matches and cheer on my partner, "be fucking careful tonight alright? I don't want to find you in a coma later because you decided to be an idiot."

His tone was one of jest, but his words were not. I looked him in the eyes. "I'm staying way the fuck out of the line of fire. Chances are it wouldn't make a difference if I didn't, but I'll play it safe."

"Alright." he clapped me on the shoulder, and began to walk away.

"Go get 'em Punk!" I yelled after him, and he smirked over his shoulder.

Tamina's match against Brie Bella was a good one. In spite of "twin magic," she won by virtue of just being better, stronger, and faster. In a couple of tense moments I found myself wishing I was at ringside so I could pull Nikki out of there, but I accepted that that just wasn't an option, and trusted Tamina to handle it, which she did.

She came back, grinning. "I think I paid 'em back for ya."

"Hell yeah! And they'll get it again from me personally. But seriously, good job out there." And I meant that. The strong showing against the Bellas from both of us in the past few days would likely make anyone think twice about not taking us seriously.

"Thanks. You're still cleared for tomorrow, right?" she asked.

I rolled my eyes. "I fucking hope so. The trainer's gonna check me out tomorrow afternoon and officially clear me, or not, then. But seeing as how I really want to kick Natalya's face in, just because I think maybe it would look better rearranged, I really hope they clear me. Not to mention, I absolutely hate sitting around on my ass doing nothing. "

She nodded her understanding. "Oh trust me, I know."

I grimaced. "Yeah, I guess you would, wouldn't you? Leave it to me to put my foot that far down my mouth."

She waved me off. "No worries. It's part of the business. I just can't wait until we absolutely destroy them in a few weeks."

*The Next Day*

Phil and I sat at catering, waiting for the trainer to arrive. I was picking at my food and tapping my foot against the concrete floor. "Hey, relax. They're gonna clear you. You feel fine, right?"

"Yeah….:" I hedged. I felt pretty much entirely myself, but I was still concerned that they were going to make me wait longer since the headache hadn't quite resolved itself yet. It wasn't bad at all anymore though, and I hoped it wouldn't be the deciding factor.

For once, he didn't catch the hesitation in my voice, or if he did, he didn't mention it. "See? Everything's gonna be fine. You'll be back to kicking ass in a matter of a few hours."

"What the hell, optimism can't hurt anything." I shrugged.

A few minutes later, we saw the trainers walk in, and they waved me in soon after. Phil came in with me, though I didn't ask him to. I didn't have to. They checked me out again, and after asking me a few questions, which I was honest in answering under Phil's scrutinizing glare, they declared me fit to compete, with a strict warning to stop the match if anything seemed amiss, and a promise (or threat) that they would tell the referee to do the same. Phil stared pointedly at me while they were giving me those instructions, and I agreed while looking back at him, signaling him that I was taking it just as seriously as I should be.

Only when we were out of the room did I celebrate slightly. "What did I tell you?" Phil grinned at me.

"Yeah, yeah," I acquiesced. "You were right."

"I was" he declared, with a note more pride than was actually necessary. "But," he stopped in the middle of the hallway. "I'm gonna say this again: be fucking careful. I know you're stubborn as a goddamn mule, but this match, tonight, is not worth being out for weeks or longer because you decided to be stupid."

I rolled my eyes, but honestly was just touched that he cared so much. "I will." I said seriously, before shifting my tone. "Now stop worrying about me, you're starting to sound like a girl!"

He looked at me as if I'd just said something absolutely scandalous then said "Wait a second… you just insulted yourself."

I smacked myself in the head. "Damnit. You're right. Well, a really GIRLY girl then, how about that. Because I definitely don't fall under that category."

"Ya think?" he asked sarcastically. "If you were any less feminine you'd have a penis."

I shuddered at the very thought. "Yeah, no thanks."

"Kidding, kidding," he replied, seeing the horror on my face.

"Uhuh," I answered, but I was laughing.

We talked strategy for a few minutes regarding my match with Natalya, which basically consisted of: hit hard, and don't stop hitting, and try to avoid Beth Pheonix's unavoidable attempts to interfere. Tamina would be out there too, though, so I didn't really expect too many issues to spill into the ring.

Punk, meanwhile, was set to team up with John Cena against Alberto Del Rio and Wade Barrett in what would, inevitably, be an epic match. I'd always loved seeing the two of them team up, so I was really looking forward to seeing that. Not to mention, a win would give Punk even more of a push towards the number 1 contendership. Obviously he and Cena would have to duke it out at some point or another, but for now they could work together under a common goal.

I begged off soon after to meet up with Tamina briefly before our matchup, promising to find Phil again later. Tamina and I talked strategy, and the best way to keep the inevitable outside-the-ring action from coming inside. We didn't really have all that long to chat, however, because pretty soon my match was coming up and we had to make our way into the ring.

Natalya and Beth came out afterwards, sporting new "Divas of Doom" shirts, and they both climbed into the ring. Tamina joined me inside at that point, because she had originally elected to stand outside in the corner where spectators were technically supposed to.

We had some quick words, without microphones, before the referee told Beth and Tamina to exit the ring. Immediately after they were clear, the bell rang. Natalya was good, damn good in fact. If she was less of a Barbie I wouldn't have much of a problem with her skill-wise. Our match was long,, and while I could see chaos on the outside of the ring through the corner of my eye, the match required all of my attention, so I couldn't even see who of the two women was coming out on top.

I found out eventually though, when Beth came up on the apron to distract the referee. Tamina was down outside the ring, moving but apparently not getting up immediately. The referee walked over to Beth to try to get her off the apron, and Natalya reached into a pocket that I hadn't realized she had, pulled out a pair of brass knuckles, and punched me hard in the stomach a couple times. Then, before the referee could turn around, she tossed them outside the ring and punted me in the head while I was down. Of course, the referee decided to turn around just in time for the three count, which I really couldn't do anything about.

I groaned standing up, not really out of pain, but out of sheer frustration. _I really gotta find a way to make sure none of that bullshit happens at Hell in a Cell, otherwise we're fucked. _ By the time I was up, Tamina was too, and we walked out of the ring together and back into her locker room without saying a word to anyone.

"What exactly happened with Beth?" I asked, trying to figure out where the shit hit the fan on that end.

Tamina shook her head. "I was doing good, or at least good enough to keep her busy, until she exposed the metal grating of the barrier and slammed me into it. I wasn't hurt, but it was a hell of a hit and it took me just long enough to get back into it that her evil plan worked just fine."

I nodded. "No, I get it. 'Shit happens,' as you so eloquently put it on Saturday."

"You alright?" she asked. "I saw those hits, they were fucking brutal."

"Yeah, I'm good. Bruises, what the hell else is new. I'm just glad the punt to the head didn't do any more damage. Or at least I don't feel like it did, so that's one hell of a good sign."

"Good. That was touch and go for a minute there, I gotta say, I wasn't sure you were gonna get up."

I scoffed. "It takes more than that to keep me down god damnit. Although I'm sure they're wishing at didn't at this particular moment. I'm just pissed that I lost."

"We'll get them when it counts." Tamina declared assuredly.

"Yeah, we will." I agreed, _assuming they don't get the chance to put one over on the referee, that is. _

When we were done talking over all the things we could/ should change in order to win against our opponents, I curled up in a tiny ball in a chair to watch the tag team main event. It was a long match, probably a full twenty minutes of back and forth action, but Punk won via pinfall in the end over Del Rio, momentum shifting fully in his direction towards the number 1 contender spot. I cheered. I couldn't help myself.

"You guys are really close, aren't you?" Tamina asked, a note of something I couldn't quite place in her voice.

I shrugged. "I've only known him for a few weeks, but yeah, for that amount of time we're amazingly close. He's probably the closest friend I've ever had."

She shot me a half smile full of what I finally figured out to be longing. "That must be nice." she remarked wistfully. "I wish I had someone like that. I mean, I have friends on the roster, but not like that."

"He's amazing… he doesn't let anyone see it, but he's a great guy under the surface." I murmured, more to myself than for the sake of the conversation.

"I can tell by the way he looks at you, he really cares about you. He's never looked at anyone that way, for as long as I've been here." Tamina remarked.

"God knows why" I muttered in a moment of complete self-deprecation.

She gave me a look of confusion. "What do you mean? You're a lot like him. You're fierce, passionate, you can be snaky and sarcastic but still caring and considerate when it matters. And you challenge him, which I don't think anyone's ever done before. In fact, I bet you two would make a great couple," she speculated.

"Woah, woah, woah… we're friends, that's it. There's nothing there, trust me." I responded, shocked at Tamina's sudden thoughts of Phil and I as a couple.

She laughed. "Yeah, for now." I glared at her. "Alright, alright, whatever you say."

I left soon after, still shaking my head at her remarks. It just didn't fit.

Phil caught up with me a bit later, finally changed and ready to get on the bus. I could see him looking me over carefully, trying to figure out if I had sustained any serious damage. "I'm fine. Seriously." I said, truthfully for once.

"Alright. Good. You'll get her next time. And by the way: make her pay for that bullshit. Brass fucking knuckles in the middle of the ring. Un-fucking-real. I don't know that I've ever seen that in the women's matches." He shook his head in complete disbelief.

"Well," I remarked, "seems like I'm starting to make changes already. Although I could live without that one. Nice match by the way, that should get you into the frontlines for the title."

He smiled. "Hopefully. Now all I have to do is go through Cena at some point."

I had no doubt whatsoever that he would. Cena's a fantastic competitor, but Punk has the fire in his eyes, and the absolute desire to win that would pretty much prevail all else. The loss at Night of Champions had clearly just fueled him further, and made him more determined to win, especially since Del Rio was such a crappy champion. He went off on fifteen minute long rants practically every night about how good he was, how he was the best champion of all time, and how he would hold the title forever. And he had a nasty habit of showing up in matches involving his main competitors and trying to take them out while they were already occupied with another opponent. It just generally sucked.

A/N: Well, I wanted to make sure you guys got a chapter today, so instead of writing one really really long one I'm gonna try to write a few short ones and publish them as soon as I finish them. That way you at least get decent-length updates fairly frequently. Please keep reviewing, seriously, those reviews drive me to keep writing.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Here we go with the next one guys. I'm writing this one on Saturday as well, although whether or not I finish it today is still up in the air. I really make a point to get at least 3,000 word chapters every time, preferably close to 3,500, so that can slow things down sometimes. Regardless, my energy for writing is absolutely off the charts, so I'm hoping to crank out some chapters quickly over the next few days before I run out of time next week for a bit.

It was only a five hour drive from Philadelphia to Albany New York where Tuesday's house show would take place, but we decided to get it the fuck out of the way so we could (hopefully) sleep a bit in the hotel the next morning before the show. We stayed in the "dining room" area of the bus for the majority of the trip, curled up in chairs, chatting and reading on and off for the relatively short ride. When we finally got there, however, it was way too early to check into the hotel, so we ended up attempting to sleep on the bus anyway. I got about two hours on the outside, and I think Phil managed about the same.

I was actually really looking forward to the house show tonight, because I'd be in my first WWE mixed-tag team match with Zack Ryder vs. Eve and Kane. Not to mention, it was in New York State, so Zack would definitely get a home-field reaction, although not quite as much so as he would when we came back through New York City after hitting New England for a few days. Phil was slated to take on the World Heavyweight Champion Christian, in yet another match that had the potential to build serious momentum toward his goal of being the number 1 contender by the time Hell in a Cell rolled around.

John Cena, meanwhile, was taking on Alberto Del Rio for his rematch, which apparently the higher-ups had decided they didn't want to be on the pay-per-view. Amazingly, I was actually rooting for Del Rio, because if Cena won the rematch, then Del Rio would be entitled to a rematch of his own, which probably would end up being the Hell in the Cell match for the WWE title. Not to mention, the entire WWE Universe deserved to be able to see when a title of that magnitude was going to change hands. I mean, if it was the tag team titles or something like that it wouldn't make any difference, but the WWE championship is the most coveted prize in professional wrestling. It shouldn't change hands at a House Show. I couldn't really figure out what the fuck Triple H was thinking with that one, except that sometimes its gotta be good to throw the house show crowds a bone once and a while, and if Cena did win, I had no doubt the footage would end up online.

I was waiting around for my matchup, which was the first of the three that I actually cared about, when my phone rang. Phil looked at me quizzically, because I didn't tend to get phone calls from anyone. "Vince." I said, entirely surprised, and I answered.

"….The fuck?" Phil asked quietly as I answered the phone.

It turns out Mr. McMahon was only calling to congratulate me on a strong entrance into the company, and to tell me he wanted me to do a photo shoot for tomorrow (on my day off, no less), so the fans could see a "different side of me". The difference, however, was that they weren't going to see a different side of me. There was no different side of me. I am what I am, in the ring and out of it, and I told him so, to which he responded: then show them that, and hung up.

"Brilliant." I muttered. "Absolutely, fucking, brilliant."

Phil raised an eyebrow at me. "I'm expected to do a photo shoot tomorrow" I explained, "and they just now told me about it."

He swore a slight oath. "I really hate when they do that. What absurd bullshit did he feed you about how to go about that?"

I adopted a very low gravelly voice: "'Show them another side of yourself'"

Phil laughed at my impression. "You got a plan on how exactly you're gonna do that?"

I shrugged. "I told him that I am what I am, and that doesn't change for wrestling matches, photo shoots, or when I'm walking around in my apartment in Tampa. I'll do the shoot, I don't care about that, but I'm not gonna put on a false persona just for the sake of making him happy."

"Damn straight." he answered proudly. "I trained you well, Grasshopper."

I rolled my eyes. "Bite me."

He licked his lip ring creepily and I feigned fear. "Damn, you can be a real creep sometimes" I commented, "no wonder smalll children run away screaming whenever they see you."

"Probably," he agreed. "That and I do have a kind of…unsavory… look."

"Who would have thought?" I asked sardonically, laughing at him.

He looked hurt for a moment, then laughed. "Hrm. I suppose."

"Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, I gotta go get ready for my match."

He put his fist up, and I hit it. "Go get 'em."

"You too." I waved over my shoulder as I walked down to the stage, meeting up with Zack Ryder along the way. Anyone not directly involved with the match was banned from ringside, mainly because Eve would have brought an entourage, so it was just the two of us, and Tamina would be watching from backstage.

"Ready Broskette?" Zack asked as we walked down to the stage.

"You know it!" I answered enthusiastically.

We walked out to the stage separately, but I went first so Zack's music would be playing when the two of us were standing together in the ring. When Zack started coming in, I jumped off the second rope, where I was standing with my fists raised in the air, and when he reached the ring we chanted "WOO WOO WOO" along with the crowd as we fist-pumped.

Then Eve came in, doing her normal, floofy entrance. Then Kane's pyro hit, and nothing you ever see, live or otherwise, will do justice what it sounds and feels like standing in the middle of that ring when the massive flames go up instantly. It sounds like gunshots, and looks like impending doom. Not to mention the all-too fitting smell of sulfur it leaves in the air. When the first ones went off though, I actually crouched down, startled half out of my mind. "Fuck" I muttered, so softly that only Zack heard it, my heart pounding out my chest.

I stood up quickly though, ashamed of my off-the-cuff reaction. By the time Kane had appeared from the smoke, I was on my feet and glaring at him and his partner, pissed that it had affected me so violently after so much time. Phil had described me as jumpy in one of our first conversations, but in truth he didn't know the half of it.

"Wanna start?" I asked Zack, who seemed raring to go. Meanwhile I had to get my heart rate back to a normal pace unless I wanted to risk a panic attack in the middle of the ring, or a stupid loss.

"Sure." The bell rang, and Zack started off against Kane, who, diabolical as he was, immediately tagged in Eve, before there could be any action between the men whatsoever. I groaned and made my way into the ring.

"Can't take the sound of the thunder, Storm?" Eve taunted as we circled.

"Save your breath. You'll need it when I crush you." I retorted grabbing onto her neck in a headlock.

She squirmed out of the hold, and the circling and sizing-up process began again. "Crush me is right. What do you weigh? 160? Jesus. You could lose a few pounds you know."

She didn't know she had hit a nerve, nor was I going to show her she had by going off into the flying rage that I so desperately wanted to. "Shut up and fight." I answered instead, grabbing her arm and Irish-Whipping her into the turnbuckle. She grunted on impact and I took a page out of CM Punk's book, giving her a running high knee, before dragging her down to the mat and drop-kicking her down. I went for the cover, which yielded a two count.

Eve ran over to Kane, tagging him back in, so I walked over to Zack's corner, tagging him in as well. Personally I would have enjoyed getting to dance with the Big Red Monster, but rules were rules.

Zack did well until getting choke slammed. The cover didn't quite get a three count, so Kane stood menacingly over Zack until he regained his feet. I don't think the big man was quite expecting what came next though. Zack did a move that was entirely unfamiliar to his normal repertoire, diving back to his stomach and sweeping out the legs. He went into the cover, and probably would have gotten the three count if Eve hadn't dashed into the ring, breaking up the cover just before the ref's hand hit the mat the third time. I ran in as well, and Eve ran out as Zack rolled over in frustration, leaving me face to face with a livid Kane.

He chuckled at me in a manner that suggested that he would have no remorse if he chopped me up into small pieces and made me into a stew. As much as that pissed me off, I wasn't willing to risk disqualification, so I backed up, trying to get out of the ring without turning my back, and pointedly staring him down every second of the time I was retreating, so it would be clear to him and the audience that I was retreating because of the rules, not out of fear. Then, just as I was about to climb out of the ring, he grabbed me around the throat and I experienced the entirely new and very strange sensation of being held up by my neck. I heard the bell ringing faintly in the distance, but the lack of blood flow to my brain was making it difficult to focus on anything. Then, when the blood finally came flooding back to my head, it was in just enough time that I was fully conscious and able to feel every inch of the impact as I came crashing down onto the mat.

I got right up though, as much as that'd sucked, because I wasn't going to be fresh prey. Kane looked at me, and even under the mask I could see surprise in his sadistic eyes. The match was over, but I didn't give a flying fuck about the match. I gestured for a microphone, and one was thrown to me instantly. I continued to stare at the man in front of me, Zack and Eve both nowhere to be seen. "You don't mess with me." I said slowly and with as much severity as I could summon.

He got a microphone too. "Oh really, what are you going to do about it little girl?" he asked mockingly. He was surprised that I'd held my ground, but I hadn't proven anything besides that I was too stupid to back down when it was clearly a good idea. I needed to demonstrate that I had a set of stones.

"This." I said, dropping the microphone in a flash, and punching him square in the jaw, knocking him flat to the ground, apparently unconscious. I walked out of the arena, throwing my hands in the air, unable to fully believe what I'd just done. I'd just broke pretty much every rule in the WWE rule book, but I really didn't care. Handling my business came first, I'd deal with company policy later.. Or preferably never.

Within seconds, Zack, Tamina, and Phil were all standing around me backstage. "That was ballsy." Phil remarked dryly.

"Ballsy?" Zack said incredulously. "She's dead. She's absolutely fucking dead."

Tamina stared at me in complete shock. "I really can't believe you did that… But I gotta go with Zack on this one."

I shrugged. "I don't take shit from people. I don't care if they're the smallest woman or the biggest man on the roster, I'm not gonna get pushed around. If he wants to sort things out with me, he can request a match with me, and I'll decide whether or not I'm going to grant it. Otherwise I hope he learned his lesson."

"He's gonna skin you and turn you into a carpet." Zack whispered.

"Nah," I answered. "I'll beat him to a pulp before I let that happen."

"And Vince," Tamina remarked. "He's gonna be so pissed. No one's ever done that."

I laughed. "Vince McMahon is the least of my problems. Besides, I'm just breaking ground all over the place, aren't I?"

Phil raised his eyebrows at me. "I'm still not sure if that was incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, but if there's one thing I absolutely can't fucking stand, it's a bully, so good for you."

Just then John Cena walked by and patted me on the back. "Nice job Kid. I'm glad someone finally put him in his place."

"Thanks" I whispered, amazed at the amount of reaction I was getting.

Then came Randy Orton and Sheamus. "Wow. I couldn't beat him at Wrestlemania, and you knock him out with one punch?" Randy asked. "I think that hurt my ego as much as it hurt Kane's, But seriously, good job. That was sick."

"Yer one hell of a gutsy lass" Sheamus stated, "I gotta give it to ye. I just hope it doesn't come back to bite ye in the arse when that fella wakes up and realizes what just happened."

"I'll deal with that when it comes." I stated. "I handle my business, and if he has a problem with me, I'll be more than happy to handle it in the ring."

"DAMN!" Orton stated. "This girl's got more balls than the rest of the roster combined, present company notwithstanding, of course."

I chuckled. In truth I was somewhat concerned that I would get an ear-splitting phone call from the CEO himself later on in the day, or snuck up on from behind by Kane in a dark alley or something, but I wasn't going to admit to that. The less afraid I seemed, the less I would feel.

Then Zack decided to put his foot in it. "So, I gotta ask. What the hell happened to you when Kane's pyro hit?"

Everyone turned and looked at me. I avoided their eyes carefully, Phil's in particular. While he could guess at the answer better than most, he still wouldn't come up with the correct answer because it involved the one part of the story that I hadn't yet told him, or anyone else for that matter. "I'd just never heard it so close before," I shrugged, playing it down. I couldn't answer honestly. I hadn't even told Phil, who knew everything else. There was no way I could tell a fucking audience.

Cena jumped in on my behalf, unknowingly saving me from a very uncomfortable moment. "Yeah, I had a pretty similar reaction the first time I was standing in the ring when it hit too, and I still do whenever I'm not expecting it. That's pretty normal."

I smiled gratefully at him. Luckily Phil's match was called, and the group disbanded to either watch, fight, or get ready to fight.

He brutalized Christian in what was a fantastic match. The technical skill of both the men was phenomenal, and hi ultimate win over Christian would inevitably help him on his road to capturing the title inside Hell in a Cell.

Next up was John Cena's match against Alberto Del Rio. I was still lurking around by the state door for some unknown reason, and Del Rio walked straight through me to get to the doors. It was only when he'd fully shoved me into the wall that he turned around, raised his eyebrows, muttered "hmmmm…caliente", which meant nothing to me since I knew absolutely no Spanish, and walked through the door. I stood against the wall for a moment, wondering what the hell I'd done to piss him off, but figured, as usual, I would find out son enough.

Cena did in fact lose and Alberto Del Rio did a few victory laps before coming back on stage. I'd had half a mind to stick around the area and tell him what for, but decided against it. I figured I'd made enough enemies for one night. By the time Phil and I got back on the bus to head out, the last I'd heard of Kane was that he had been helped into the trainer's room, and was currently being evaluated. My intention hadn't been to hurt him, and this surprised me, but nonetheless I couldn't help but be somewhat proud. I had taken one of the companies most-feared threats, and put him down with one punch. I couldn't bring myself to feel bad about the fact that I'd had the ability to do what most of the Superstars on the roster didn't even have the guts to think about unless they were forced to.

From Albany we moved on to Providence, Rhode Island where I would have to do my stupid photo shoot. Phil dropped me off right on time, and I walked in to a team of hair and makeup stylists, fashion consultants, and PR people all standing around waiting for me. I waved off all but the PR people. "Listen," I said, after introductions were made. "Let me get one thing perfectly clear. I don't mind doing this, but I'm doing it my own way. Got it? Good."

They looked taken aback, but heard me out. I got them to take me to the nearest boxing studio, put on all black boxing gear, threw my hair back with a cap over it, and began punching the bag for my photo shoot. They told me they had wanted to "girl me up" a bit so the fans could see that side of me, but I explained that that would be false advertising since that side didn't exist.

I got a chcance to see the pictures before I took off, and they really were awesome. They were far from being the normal half-naked "diva" photos, but they personified me well, and I felt like they would give fans a good idea of who I was and what I stood for. Once again, Vince would probably be pissed, but I genuinely didn't care.

A/N: Alrght, another chapter! I'm definitely done for the night at this point, I'm exhausted and still have a lot of driving left to do.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I know it's been nearly a week, but I got caught up in school stuff when I got back from Miami and just finished making up all my work. But now that's over with, and we can proceed with the story. Maybe two updates this weekend to make up for it, or at least that's my goal. Also, didn't even realize that this story broke 50K words last chapter. Nice milestone, I think, especially since we're still only in the middle of September in the story, and I'm planning on going through April. It wouldn't be quite as long if the characters didn't keep doing things that I didn't have in my plan-out of the story, but I think those are some of the best parts of the story, so I let them ;)

When I got back to the hotel, I legitimately walked into John Cena, as in, I ended up on the floor. _That guy could double as a brick wall_. He looked at me in surprise before giving me a hand up. "You alright?" he asked.

I nodded. "I'm a pro wrestler. I've taken harder bumps than that."

"Sorry, I really should pay more attention to where I'm going" he muttered, seeming embarrassed.

I shook it off. "Me too. I was just glad to get out of the photo shoot that I was rushing a bit."

"Trust me, I get that. I'm actually on my way to my own shoot. Then again, at least they don't shovel me into a bikini and ask me to pose like a stripper on crack. I guess I should be happy I'm not a Diva, and count my blessings."

I grimaced, both because of his phrasing, and because hearing John Cena talk about 'strippers on crack' was something along the lines of a punch straight to the childhood. "I fucking hate that word. And they didn't make me do any of that shit. Well, they tried," I amended, "but the minute I put up a fight they gave up on it. Which just goes to show that all the women who do that actually want to on some level. I'm not sure which part of that is more disturbing, frankly."

John raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought it was in the contract or something. So what'd you do?"

"Plenty." I smiled. "It just didn't involve any swimsuits, primping, or other girly bullshit. I showed myself to the camera in another way: by demonstrating my personality."

He looked at me approvingly. "Nice. Well, I should go. They'll rip into me if I'm late. See you around."

I sat around in the lobby for a while, reading and people watching. About ten minutes in, a young girl came up to me. She couldn't have been more than eight, and I was guessing that estimate was high. "Hello?" she asked timidly.

I smiled at her. I wasn't necessarily looking for an interruption, but she was just so damn cute. "Hey sweetie, what's up?"

"Are…are you Amber Storm?" she stammered.

"Yep! What's your name?"

She looked down at the floor. "I'm Kayla. I… uh…I saw you on Raw and… I… could I get a picture with you? I just, I wanna be like you someday."

I beamed at her. _My first fan! _"Sure you can! And can I tell you a secret?" she nodded. "No one's ever asked me for a picture before." She smiled shyly up at me, and waved her dad over, who had been standing within earshot and watching carefully the entire time without interfering.

I posed with Kayla while her father took the picture on his phone. Then she pulled what I assumed was her journal out of her tiny backpack. "Could you maybe sign this? I mean, if you have time…"

"Sure," I smiled. "Hang on one second." I walked up to the front desk to grab a pen, and I heard Kayla squealing to her dad. _She has got to be the cutest thing on earth_, I gushed to myself as I walked back over.

She handed me her journal, and I opened it to the cover page. "Here?" I asked, and when she nodded, I wrote **Shoot for the moon. The worst that can happen is you'll miss and fall on a star—Amber Storm. **I had no idea where that had come from, but I knew I'd heard it somewhere, and it seemed appropriate for a young girl full of dreams.

She read what I had written. "Thank you," she said in awe.

Before I could respond, Kayla's father put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on Kay, I'm sure Amber has other things to do."

I really didn't, but I could tell from his posturing that he had some other things to do, and was trying to hurry his daughter up, so I said my goodbyes, and practically floated to the elevators. When I got out, I saw Phil in the hallway. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, you look way too chipper to have just come from a photo shoot. What's up with the cat-who-ate-the-canary look?"

I grinned brightly. "I just met my first fan. She was so adorable too. She was just a sweet little girl who happened to run into me in the lobby. Cutest thing ever."

Phil laughed. "It never wears off, either. Trust me. It's as good the millionth time as it is the first. Especially the kids, they're always awesome. Anyway, how was the photo shoot?"

I laughed. "It was fine. They wanted me to be all frilly, I threatened to castrate them with rusty pruning shears if they so much as tried it. I won."

He shuddered momentarily, then congratulated me. "Damn, I wish I could've been there, just to see their faces."

I did my best impression, and he doubled over laughing. "God damn. I thought I was good at shit like that. Clearly I've met my match and then some."

"Heh." I smirked.

"Well, I'm gonna go try to put my shattered ego back together now. See ya around?" He feigned offense, but I could tell he was actually thrilled that I'd thrown a massive wrench in the photographers' (and by extension Vince McMahon's) evil plans.

"Later Punk," I turned away.

A second or two later, I heard him calling my name, and I turned around again. "Good job" he said, and I grinned at him before proceeding back to my room.

I was getting hungry, but was suddenly not in the mood to go back out, so I ordered some room service and curled up with my book.

By the time I had eaten, showered, and read a few more chapters, I was exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep the second after I put my Nook on my nightstand.

I woke up to "Tonight" by Seether blaring on my phone, which was my ringtone, not my alarm. _Who the fuck would need to talk to me before eight am? And of course, they have to decide to do it today, the one time I'm actually fucking asleep. _I answered the phone, groggily and infuriated. "The fuck do you want?"

I heard Phil chuckling on the other end of the line. "Well, I was wondering if you were planning on meeting me so we could to go the arena?"

_Arena? What? _Then a moment of terror hit me and I sat straight up in bed, wide awake. "Wait, what time is it?"

"Somewhere around two." I could practically hear his smirk through the phone.

I cursed a blue streak, leaping out of bed and running around the room like a chicken with my head cut off. "Give me five minutes" I muttered, ending the call so I'd have both hands free.

Exactly four and a half minutes later I was down in the lobby, flustered and winded, but ready to go.

Phil raised his eyebrows at me. "Oversleep much?"

I was still too bleary to get that he was joking. "Sorry" I mumbled to the floor. "I guess I didn't set an alarm, and once in a while I just go into these sleep coma things and…"

He put his hand on my shoulder, silencing me. I flinched. "Amber, relax, I was joking."

"Right, of course," I stammered, trying to recover from both blunders.

He motioned for me to follow him to the car, which I did, all the while cursing my stupidity. When we got there, he handed me a huge, steaming cup of Starbucks coffee. "You are an absolute god," I said, grinning at him and beginning to guzzle the hot liquid.

He laughed. "Yeah, I know. So, do you always go into regression when you get woken up, or should I be offended?" he winked, to show me he wasn't being at all serious.

I shrugged. "Getting catapulted out of deep sleep into a mad dash for the door while still barely awake does that to me I guess. When you go from that relaxed to that tense immediately, it's hard not to anticipate another attack. Defenses go up, common sense is still sound asleep in your bed where you left it, and there you have it." He nodded, saying nothing, but appearing to be deep in thought.

When we pulled into the arena, Phil didn't get out right away, which was odd since he was usually in a rush to get inside, no matter how early we were. This time, however, he wasn't, and I took that as a cue to stay as well, sipping my coffee and waiting for him to speak, or move, or something.

It took him a while, maybe a minute or two, before he opened his mouth to speak. He looked like he was trying to figure out how to word something perfectly, and I could tell the tone of the conversation had shifted before it even began. Finally, I asked "What is it?" quietly.

He sighed momentarily. "You, uh, you know I wouldn't hurt you, right?" he seemed uncharacteristically….something. I'm not sure what exactly, but definitely something. Unsure, maybe.

Regardless, I needed to answer the question, and it was a lot easier to answer than it seemed to be to ask. "Of course," I answered honestly. "Jesus Phil, you're the only person I trust, and I'm not talking about within the company either. No one else knows…" I paused, somewhat painfully, "…what you know, and there's no way I would've told you any of that if I thought you were gonna turn it around on me."

"Good," he sighed. "It's just, sometimes you just look so afraid, even of me… I just wanted to check."

I shook my head. "That's just me. And I'm not afraid of you. I'm just…" I paused, trying to find words for something that was difficult enough to admit to myself, let alone to describe.

"You're just…what?" he pressed gently.

"I'm afraid of myself." I exclaimed, frustrated at how pathetic it must sound. I hurried to explain. "I just, I always feel like I'm gonna fuck something up, so I freak out. And the rest of it is just past trauma coming back to haunt me, making me expect an attack even when there's no way in hell it's gonna happen. Either way, it has nothing to do with you."

Phil exhaled heavily, processing. "I get it," he said finally, "that's some tough shit."

I shrugged. "It is what it is. I don't mind it generally. The part that I hate is that for the first time, it's affecting someone else."

He looked at me very gravely all of a sudden. "Don't you dare spend your energy worrying about that. I can take it."

I didn't know how to respond to that, at all. Just when I was getting comfortable with the deadly serious side of Phil, he took it to a new level that I was entirely unfamiliar with. Instead of replying, I stared at my hands for a moment. Finally, though, the silence grew oppressive, and I felt I had to say something, if only to bring the conversation to an end. "Okay…" I said slowly.

Silence built up again, but of a different variety. It was the part of the conversation where one of us had to say something to lighten the mood. All that could be said on the subject had been said, and we needed to move on.

Finally, I thought of a way to do it. "So, when did you turn into a girl?" I quipped.

Normally, I wouldn't have gotten away with that without getting put to sleep, but it provided the much needed distraction we were both looking for, so he just mock-glared at me. "Shut the fuck up."

I laughed. "Make me, Punkster. 'Course, you're gonna have to pull your balls out of your purse first…"

"Oh that's it. You're done. Get your ass out of the car and meet me in the ring in five minutes. I'll show you who wears the pants here." He half-growled through his smirk.

I raised an eyebrow. "Wait, can we do that?"

He scoffed. "As long as we're out of there by six so they can finish setting up, no one gives a shit."

I got out of the car. "You're on."

We raced into the building, changing as quickly as possible, then we met up in the ring.

We locked up, and went neck-in-neck for nearly half an hour. Then, when I had him on the ground, I locked him into his own Anaconda Vise. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me" he growled as I applied pressure.

I let off the hold almost immediately, dragging him to his feet, and loaded all 218 pounds of him onto my shoulders, nailing him with the Go To Sleep for the three-count.

I snickered at him as he stared up at me, a mixture of disbelief and impressed amazement finding it's way into his bright hazel eyes.

"I've never been one to underestimate women, mainly because I know most of them would kick my ass into a different time zone if I did, but I have to admit, I wasn't expecting that at all." he remarked, finding his way into a seated position and crossing his legs as he always did when sitting in the ring, except of course when he was perched on a turnbuckle.

I grinned slyly at him in response. "I told you I could beat you. And I think I've officially earned the title of 'pants-wearer,' as per the conditions of our 'match'.

He laughed. "Well, the element of surprised helped you there a bit—you don't see people throwing around their opponent's finishers as much now as you used to back in the Attitude Era—but I'm enough of a man to admit that you beat me using skill alone. Although since we didn't set a formal win condition, I'm not going to give you that title."

"Hrm," I mused. "Well, I'll just have to beat you again then, won't I?"

He smirked. "One word, Storm: fluke."

Given what he'd said a moment earlier, I knew he was kidding. "You just don't want me to take away your manhood."

"Oh please," he scoffed. "My manhood is nowhere near being threatened right now. Or ever for that matter. I'm CM Punk. No one can take away my masculinity." He waggled his eyebrows, making the statement even more absurd.

I choked back a laugh. "Uhuh," I said, adopting a patronizing tone, "Whatever you say, Punk."

He finally stood. "Well, at least you got one thing right," he winked at me. "But seriously, nice job out there."

"Thanks," I grinned, more proud of myself than I really felt I had any right to be. Still, for whatever reason, that exhibition match which had no bearing on my career and on paper should be meaningless, actually had more significance to me than any match I'd won to date. Maybe because I'd never had a win of any kind against a current or former male champion (FCW notwithstanding, because that really doesn't count), or maybe because of Punk's reputation, but either way, it was a big deal for me, not that I was gonna say that out loud.

At that point, we vacated the ring so we wouldn't be in the way of the set crews, and went our own ways, planning to meet up after the show as always.

*FOUR HOURS LATER*

Tamina and I walked down to the ring. My opponent for the night, Brie Bella, was already inside the square circle, along with her sister, and, of all people, Natalya.

"I'll handle it" Tamina muttered. "Focus on the match."

I nodded, and gave myself all of five seconds to wonder why the people at the top seemed absolutely hell-bent on making sure my feud with the Bellas (which I was sure was over) continued, at least in the ring. _Whatever. As long as I get to fight, I don't give a shit who I face._

Brie really wasn't much of an opponent. I was pretty much sure I had the match won from the moment we locked up. That is, until Tamina got knocked out (or at least taken out of commission, I couldn't really tell). Once the women on the outside were no longer occupied with my partner, the shit was able to really hit the fan. And, of course, it did.

Nikki jumped up on the apron, distracting the referee, and when I went to run against the ropes to get some extra power for my clothesline, Natalya grabbed my ankles, causing me to fall flat on my face. Brie went in for the cover, Nikki, seeing that the damage was done, jumped off the apron, the referee turned around, and that was the end of that.

I shot up the second the bell rang, having been mere milliseconds from a kickout when the referee's hand hit the mat for the third time. The three women were already crowding into the ring, and I didn't want the situation to get any uglier.

I was just beginning to contemplate how best to handle the three of them alone when I saw Tamina climb silently into the ring behind our opponents. My strategy came instantly. I put my hands on Nikki's shoulders, pushing hard and giving out a battle cry, sending her backwards into a ready-and-waiting Tamina. Then I gave Brie a high-kick reminiscent of Shawn Michaels' Sweet Chin Music, putting her instantly to the ground. Natalya was the fighter of the three anyway, and I knew she would require the most focus.

She didn't disappoint. We had a legitimate brawl, to the point that the referee began to look truly concerned and tried to get us to back off each other. Finally, though, an elbow to the chin forced her to retreat, shaken but clearly unharmed. "Wait until Hell in a Cell" she muttered, quietly enough that only I could hear her, "Beth and I will rip into you so hard you won't remember your own name by the end of it."

"Good luck with that" I answered, my tone darker than the sky outside the arena.

Tamina and I turned and walked out of the ring, leaving the scene of carnage and destruction behind us. I thought privately about how strange it was that Beth didn't come out to defend her partner, but quickly decided that it was better not to speculate, and to just let things play out.

And play out they did. I had barely said goodbye to Tamina and started walking towards the catering area when Beth blindsided me. She had me pinned up against the concrete wall before I had any idea what the hell was going on. _This isn't good,_ my mind registered brilliantly before she began to speak, and cut off my oxygen with the arm pressed against my airway.

A/N: Cliffie! Well, sorta. More like, I thought I'd hand-written more than I had, and when it only ended up being half a chapter's worth, the rest took me forever to write, and this just seemed like a decent (ish) place to leave it. Please review!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Chapter 16! Bear with me guys, we're getting really close to another defining moment in the story, but things keep happening that I didn't plan (like everything that happened in this chapter just sort of happened rather than being planned, at all). But nonetheless, a lot of moments that look like filler moments are going to turn out to be really significant. I really can't wait till the next "big moment" though. I'm hoping to get there somewhere between Chapters 17 and 19, but we'll see. As always, thanks for the reviews, they really motivate me to keep going. Also, to dreamin'Big: I took what you said under advisement, this one's for you xD

"What the fuck is your problem?" I choked out, spots already beginning to form in my field of vision.

She snarled in a manner that was eerily animalistic. "You think you can just come in here and take what is rightfully mine? You think you can steamroll over everything I've ever worked for? And then you go around beating up my partner for your own sick amusement? I'm gonna pull you off your high horse and teach you what your rightful place is here. You aren't worth the scum on the bottom of my boots." She took it upon herself to spit that last sentence in my face, and I do mean that literally.

I'd had more than enough at that point. I shoved her off me, and while she stood dazed I got in her face. "You know what Beth? I know justice means nothing to you, so I won't even try to explain that I only did what I did to Natalya after she cheated and cost me my match, and tried to gang up on me with two other women. Instead, I'll say this: you're a bully who lashes out whenever your supposedly 'claimed' position of top dog gets threatened. At least I'm upfront about who I am and what I'm going to do here. And I'm not so much of a coward that I can only face someone one-on-one when I attack them from behind first. And yet you still walk around convinced that you're better than everyone else. Frankly Beth, I pity you. You're delusional, and too far gone to even realize it."

I have to admit, what she did next actually defied my rather low expectations for her. She punched me full in the face, and it wasn't one of those girly slap-things that I'd grown accustomed to recently. My nose actually began to bleed. Of course, my eyes started watering too, which was obnoxious, given that I was in the middle of a fight.

Wiping my eyes quickly and ignoring the blood I could feel pouring off my face, I went straight for a kick to the gut. It was sloppy, and she deflected it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I recognized the general shape of a camera, and vaguely wondered how long it had been there before stomping hard on Beth's foot, evening the score somewhat and buying me a few seconds to regroup. As soon as she recovered, we traded hits for a few seconds, then I landed an elbow to her side that, from her gasp, I knew would bring the brawl to an end, or at least damn close.

She wasn't through yet though. She aimed a high kick at my jaw, showing resiliency that I couldn't help but be impressed with. Unfortunately for her, though, she was winded, and it was making her technique worse than normal, and considering it hadn't been fantastic to begin with, she couldn't afford to lose anything. Her blundering allowed me to duck under the kick, and as she blinked at me in amazement, I landed a right hook to her temple that had, in the past, served to knock out 300 pound gym rats who had gotten the wrong idea. It certainly worked on her.

I wasn't glad when she crumpled to the floor, unconscious. Contrary to common belief, I'm really not all that sadistic. But I was, admittedly, glad it was over and that I hadn't sustained any damage that would render me unable to compete in the coming days.

I walked away, but not before signaling the stunned camera man to radio for medical help for my fallen opponent. Judging by the overall look of him, he probably wouldn't have snapped out of it any sooner than Beth if I hadn't brought him back to reality.

Zack Ryder, of all people, intercepted me in the hallway. "You alright Amber?" he asked, looking me up and down. His use of my real name told me exactly how gory I must look. I smirked. "Please, like she could take me out. I'm fine. Looks worse than it is, I'm sure. It always does."

"You're sharing a locker room with Eve and the Evil Twins, right?"

I nodded, rolling my eyes. "Why don't you clean up in my locker room then?" he offered. "Then you won't have to deal with their crap."

I accepted gratefully. When we got there and I looked in a mirror, it became instantly obvious why Zack had been so concerned. My face, along with nearly every inch of my torso, was covered with blood, some fresh and some beginning to dry. Though my nose was now only trickling blood rather than its previous state of Niagra Falls worthy gushing, I was already developing two black eyes. Nothing had been broken, but it had still been one hell of a punch. _If she fought like that all the time, I would have less of a problem with her_, I thought wryly. Not to mention my swollen, cut up knuckles which were thinly caked with blood of their own. For it not having been that serious of a fight, it certainly looked like it.

I grabbed some paper towels and began to shovel away at the layers of blood. "So," I asked casually, "how much of that was on camera, exactly?"

"The camera man came around the corner just before Beth started to talk, when she had you against the wall." he answered.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, at least this is only a house show, so only the Superstars and the audience saw it."

Zack shook his head. I looked at him questioningly. "Well, it's probably gonna end up on line…" he said reluctantly.

I'd momentarily forgotten about that, actually. "Of fucking course it is" I growled, not at Zack, who had been incredibly nice, but at the world in general, which was really beginning to piss me off today. Then another thought came to me, which momentarily turned my blood to ice. "Uh, what's Vince's policy on this kind of thing?"

"I don't actually know. Ask Cena or Punk or someone who's been at this longer, they'd probably know. But, I mean, obviously you did what you needed to do. So I don't think you'll get in trouble" he speculated, but speculation wasn't enough to comfort me.

I gathered my thinks, having cleaned myself up as much as possible, thanked Zack for his hospitality, and went in search of one of the veteran Superstars.

As luck would have it, I ran into the person who probably had more experience with this kind of thing than the rest of the roster combined: Randy Orton.

He whistled in my general direction when he saw me. "Well, I gotta say, you can be one hell of a brawler when you want to."

I gave him a token smile. "Yeah, I don't exactly fight like most of the girls here."

"I'll say," he remarked incredulously. "Although judging by the fact that you're on your feet and Beth isn't, I'd say you came out on the winning end."

I nodded. "What, you didn't see the end?"

"Oh, I did," he answered, "but the tides can turn quickly in the first few minutes after a fight, once the adrenaline wears off."

_That makes sense, _I mused. "Hey, what do you think McMahon is gonna do to me when he gets wind of it?"

Orton let out a sigh. "Well, he can be a hypocritical jackass sometimes. If it makes good TV, he generally doesn't care what happens. And he usually only punishes the aggressors anyway. Unless he's in a really pissy mood, you're gonna be fine."

I let out a breath, and with it all of the tension that had been building up for the past few minutes. "Alright, thanks."

He smiled at me. "No problem. Nice job kid. Kane a few days ago, now Beth. You're cleaning house."

I'd actually forgotten about my "incident" with Kane, and said so. "How's he doing?" I asked, more curious than concerned. I mean, he had chokeslammed me after all.

Randy chuckled darkly. "You didn't hear?" I shook my head. "Well, on top of the fact that he got suspended for attacking a woman in the middle of the ring, you dislocated his jaw. He's gonna be out for at least a month between that and the suspension."

I was shocked. "I guess there was more force behind that shot than I originally thought."

He looked pointedly at my right hand. "Jesus Amber, you could give Big Show a run for his money."

I smirked. "Yep. WMD. That's me."

He looked up at the clock. "Shit. I gotta go, my match is about to be up. Seriously though, good work out there. It's nice to see a woman who refuses to take shit from anyone."

I thanked him, and he half-ran to the ring area, leaving me alone in the hallway. I decided to kill some time in catering, starving after two different battles.

When I first got there, Alberto Del Rio and his pet puppy/ ring announcer were standing around, the WWE title slung over Del Rio's shoulder. As soon as I walked in, Alberto walked over to me. "Puta" he hissed at me, then dragged Ricardo out with him. I didn't know much in the way of Spanish, but knowing how to curse in nearly every language in the book gave me enough knowledge to understand what he'd just called me. What I didn't understand, however, was why he hated me.

I decided to keep the latest conversation to myself until I had more of a concept of why it had occurred. Munching on an apple speculatively gave me no answers, and I came to the conclusion that I simply didn't have all the facts yet. Vowing to confront the man at the first opportunity that arose, I put it aside in my mind for the time being.

That ended up being a really good decision, because it meant I wasn't distracted when I got the inevitable call from Vince McMahon about five minutes later.

To my indescribable surprise, Vince praised me. He started out with "We don't encourage fighting outside of the ring…" but ended with, "…but we certainly don't condone bullying either…" He went on to say how impressed he was that I was able to handle my business so effectively, to congratulate me on a job well done, and to ask how I'd feel about having a No Disqualification match against Beth on next week's live Smackdown Supershow, assuming she was medically cleared. I agreed readily, trying not to sound too eager for fear that he would get the wrong idea. I didn't care who I faced, the fact that there was gonna be a No-Disqualification women's match, which was pretty much unheard of, just proved that I was doing something right in my attempt to change the division.

Vince seemed pleased with my response, and hung up almost immediately after. _Not one for small talk, I guess._ It's a good thing too. I would have had less than no idea what to do if Mr. McMahon had decided he wanted to 'chat'.

I finished my apple and started on a bottle of water, glad to finally have a few moments of peace.

There must have been a full moon or something, because catering, which should have been abandoned as it always was when the show is nearly over, but not quite at the point of the end-of-show-food-rush beginning. But no. Something in the universe was conspiring against me for its own sick enjoyment, becausein walked Dolph Ziggler.

He walked over to me, anger replacing cockiness that usually dominated his gait. I cut him off the moment his mouth opened. "I've just about had it with random people deciding they have a problem with me for no fucking reason," I said, referring mainly to Del Rio and Kane, "So I'll tell you what, why don't you piss off before I decide to kick the bleach straight out of your hair, which frankly would be better suited to a male stripper than a WWE superstar anyway."

_Well, _I thought, once I had regained control over my mouth, _if he didn't have any reason to be pissed at me, he sure as hell does now that I've figured out his night job. _

Dolph, surprisingly, raised his hands in apparent surrender, and took a few steps backwards. It did not, however, prevent him from saying his piece. "As much as I'd love to, I'm not here to fight you Storm. I'm here to warn you. You fucked with my girlfriend today, and if you do it again, I WILL take matters into my own hands. Got it?" I'd actually forgotten that Dolph was dating Natalya. _Well, at least HIS motivations are clear. Or at least he has the common courtesy to clarify them. _

I rolled my eyes. "As much as I'd enjoy kicking your teeth down your throat right here, right now, I have more important things to do. So, for the hell of it: yes, I got it. And as much as I think your girlfriend needs to learn to handle her own damn business, I hope she doesn't, because there's very little I like more than pulling egotistical dickwads down a notch or two. Now, if you'll excuse me, or even if you won't, really, I'm leaving."

He was standing between me and the door, but he was still in the center of the room, so it was easy to simply sidestep around him as he stood sputtering. Clearly no one had ever put him in his place before, or at least not in recent memory. _Jesus, he and Natalya really do suit each other, don't they?_

It turns out that if we had thrown down, we would have been interrupted anyway. The post-show catering rush was beginning. In fact, it made it incredibly difficult to get through the hallway, especially with every other person in the crowd stopping to stare at me.

When I finally broke free of the crowd, I met Phil near his changing room as always. He looked at me in shock. "What the hell happened to your face?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "First of all, that's the last fucking thing you're supposed to say to a girl—"

"You're no girl" he quipped, cutting me off.

I smacked him before continuing. "How did you not see, or hear, what the fuck was going on?"

He shrugged. "As soon as you elbowed Natalya in the face, I shut off the TV. My match was over, and I felt like reading instead. And I'm not exactly a part of the grape vine. So what exactly happened?"

I told him the long story, starting with the brawl with Beth and going all the way through my call with Vince McMahon, leaving out my encounters with Del Rio and Ziggler for the time being.

He ran his hand over his head when I was finally done. "Jesus. I'm really not sure what to be more surprised at: the size of the shitstorm you've managed to bring down on yourself in such a short time, or the fact that McMahon is actually praising you for doing it."

I shrugged. "I'm just awesome like that, I guess."

He laughed, looking me over again. His eyes landed on my hand, which still looked pretty gory. "Right hook, huh?"

"It worked." I responded simply, and with that we boarded the bus.

I cleaned myself up much more effectively on the bus, and laid down almost immediately after. I didn't fall asleep, but I fell quickly into that state just before sleep, and stayed there for quite a while. I'd slept so much the previous day that I didn't anticipate getting actual sleep for several days, so I counted my blessings when I was at least able to rest for a while in semi-consciousness.

I've never been so happy to have a day off as I was when I "woke up" that morning. Between the sparring match with Punk, the legitimate match and immediate fallout, then the brawl with Beth, I had come dangerously close to reaching my physical limits. In retrospect, I wasn't entirely sure I could have handled a fight with the Showoff last night. Of course, that didn't stop me from running my mouth at the time. Luckily, it didn't end up making any difference in the end.

We rolled into our next destination, Portland Maine, almost immediately after, meaning that we would have the day to ourselves, while all the other Superstars would spend the day travelling, and arrive late tonight.

I didn't see Phil until it was time to offload our bags, which was odd considering we shared a tour bus. When I did see him, however, he was in something of a jovial mood, which was incredibly odd considering it was… Phil. He was pulling luggage off the bus, and when he heard me coming (presumably, since he didn't look up), he remarked, "a day free of assholes!" Then he looked up. "And you look absolutely horrible," he joked.

I glared at him. "You're 0 for 2 there Punk."

He laughed, and that laughter quickly caught on. "Sop, what are you gonna do with your asshole-free day off?"

I shrugged. "Probably channel surf or something. Maybe I'll drag my ass to the gym later if by some miracle I can get up the motivation."

He shook his head. "Not anymore you aren't," he stated, shooting me a grin.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "I'm kidnapping you." he announced, a glint in his eyes that I'd only seen a couple times in the weeks that I'd known him.

"Ohhhkay…" I chuckled, waiting to see where exactly this was going.

He pulled my luggage off the bus too, handing it to me. "Alright. Check in, put your bags away, then meet me back here."

I had no idea what he had planned, or if he was just flying by the seat of his pants, but I figured whatever it was, it had to be better than staying in my hotel room all day, so I agreed.

Well, my assumptions were completely on the mark. Phil and I did all sorts of things, from going to the movies, to playing an extremely competitive game of mini-golf (which I lost, and will probably never hear the end of it), and ended the day with dinner on a beach. The fact that it was freezing didn't make the ocean any less beautiful under the night sky, and it was the perfect ending to the day.

When I asked Phil why he was doing all of this, he just shrugged and asked me, "When was the last time you had fun, outside of wrestling?" When I couldn't come up with an answer, he nodded pointedly and went back to his sandwich.

When we finally got back to the hotel, I asked. "So, do you do this for all of your friends?"

He scoffed. "What other friends?"

He had a point there. Phil had plenty of acquaintances who he was "friendly" with, but for the most part he was as much, or maybe even more, of a loner than me. Finally I thought of a decent example. "Kofi?"

Laughing he answered. "Oh trust me, Kingston is perfectly capable of having a good time all on his own. You, on the other hand, seriously need to get out once and a while."

I couldn't argue with that, or really think of anything else to say, so I stayed silent until we got out of the car.

When we were about to head to our respective rooms, however, I stopped him. "Thank you," I said, trying to push all of the emotions I was feeling into my voice. "I really needed that."

He put his hand on my shoulder, smiling at me. "I know." he said simply, before walking into his room without another word.

When I walked into my own room and sat down on my bed, processing, the only thought that was going through my head was: _how the fuck did I get so lucky?_


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Alright, I'm gonna try to start moving this story along a bit for the next few chapters, it's time for some real, _significant_, action again. Not sure how it's gonna go yet though.

The next morning I made sure to get up plenty early, which was made a lot easier by the fact that I'd actually set my alarm the night before. I didn't have a match at the house show, but I wasn't gonna be late again either.

The day flew by, Tamina won against AJ without any outside interference, so my presence at ringside ended up being more for appearances than anything else. That was fine with me. I'd had enough impromptu brawls for the time being.

Soon we were back on the road, headed to Providence, Rhode Island for one more house show before Raw in Hartford, Connecticut on Monday, and Smackdown Supershow live in Boston on Tuesday. I spent a sleepless night on the bus, making the ride feel longer than it was, but by the time we got to Providence I was energized and looking forward to taking on the face of the "Diva's" division tonight, Kelly Kelly.

That morning was spent in the gym, waking myself up in the best way possible: adrenaline. Not to mention, I'd sat around on my ass long enough since Thursday night. When evening rolled around, I couldn't have been more ready for my match. But looking at it honestly, I was more excited for Tuesday's match than anything else. I forced myself not to look ahead too much though. Focusing on anything but the match at hand is a really good way to get your ass handed to you. Instead, I stretched out behind the curtain, as Kelly Kelly walked out to the ring.

The crowd cheered for her, as they always did, then when my music hit, there was an audible moment of confusion. Generally the crowd had liked me thus far, aside from that one night I had to team with Beth and Natalya, but facing their favorite? From what I heard, they settled on cheering us both and leaving it at that.

During the match the crowd was pretty much split between cheering for Kelly and cheering for me, but at least they were into the match. The fact that they cared at all and weren't all lining up for the bathroom during this match said plenty about the changes the division had undergone in the past month or so.

Kelly…well…she had more strength than one would necessarily anticipate by looking at her, but her skill was lacking, and I took advantage of that. I nailed her with the Scales of Justice about sixty seconds after the match began and that was the end of that. By the end, though, I did have the crowd on my side. Tamina and I walked out, our hands raised. I didn't really feel like it was much of a victory though. Winning should require actual work, which is part of why I felt the need to change the division so badly.

CM Punk had a great match against Daniel Bryan, giving the crowd a show of what true, technical wrestling is supposed to look like. Of course Bryan eventually ended up running away, but not until they had been at it for twenty solid minutes. There wasn't a person in the arena who wasn't fully into the match, including me. My "fan side" crept back out during that match, although so did my jealous side. All I wanted was to be able to have matches like that on TV. _The time will come,_ I reminded myself. _Focus on the present. _

After the show, I congratulated Phil on a phenomenal match, then we wasted no time getting on our way. Hartford wasn't far, but he and I were both of the mindset that it was better to kill time once we got to the destination, not before.

It was interesting to see Hartford again, especially from the eyes of the Superstar I was hoping to become when I had last been there. We got there a good eight hours before we really could even think about getting to the arena, and I divided that time between sleeping for a bit, and walking the streets of the city that, for a short time, I had called home while waiting for my dreams to come true.

I didn't actually know who I was facing that night until we got to the arena. Triple H called me into his office almost as soon as we arrived, to let me know that I'd be fighting Natalya, and that he'd be making the announcement regarding tomorrow's match live tonight, and playing the video of the fight between Beth and I. He also told me that Beth had been medically cleared, but for obvious reasons didn't tell me the extent of her injuries. I was actually glad. Her not being badly hurt meant that the match could go on as planned, which was fantastic news.

As for the match against Natalya, well, I owed her some retribution anyway. She had cost me too many matches recently, and I needed to put her down just to make sure it stopped happening. I let Tamina know about it, then spent the rest of the time before the show preparing. I didn't see Natalya, or Beth, or any of my other adversaries, which was fine with me. I was more than ready to have a nice, quiet night with just my scheduled match. _Yeah right,_ I berated myself for even thinking that, _this is WWE, there is no such thing as a 'quiet night'. _

Well, at the very least, things stayed quiet until my match was up. I met up with Tamina backstage, having gone to catering briefly for a bottle of water, and we walked out together. Natalya was already in the ring, none other than Dolph Ziggler in her corner. "Jesus. This guy is like herpes. He just keeps coming back."

Tamina looked at me questioning, but I shot her a look that said 'I'll explain later' and shook my head. "Don't get into it with him" I warned her. "Let me handle it."

She raised an eyebrow but agreed. "Okay…"

The bell rang and the match was underway. Natalya's fury was evident in everything from the stiffness of her posture to the newfound strength behind her moves. I was somewhat impressed, but there was no way in hell I was gonna lose the match, even if she had suddenly turned into the goddamn Incredible Hulk.

It was a long match, and a hell of a lot better than yesterday's, but when all was said and done, I got a clean victory with a Storm Front, and when the referee raised my hand, I knew there wasn't a single thing anyone could say about it. I climbed out of the ring, and though Dolph glared at me, he moved toward Natalya rather than towards Tamina and I.

When we got backstage, Tamina asked immediately "okay so what the fuck is between you and Ziggler?"

I shrugged. "He threatened me if I screwed with Natalya again. Not that I did to begin with but people like that don't tend to listen to reason. He'll have a hard time finding a beef with me now though unless he has a problem with people winning matches then leaving."

"You don't make many friends, do you?" she asked incredulously.

"Not with people who aren't worth my time, no." I answered.

We didn't have long to talk however. Triple H's music hit and he walked out to the ring, introducing the video of my fight and then showing it to the world. Then he announced that, due to the recent developments between the Glamazon and I, there would be a No Disqualification match tomorrow on Smackdown.

Beth came down to the ring and bragged about how she would kick my ass and all sorts of other ridiculous bravado. Finally I grabbed a microphone from one of the stage hands, muttered "I'll be right back" to Tamina, and walked out onto the stage area, not even bothering to go to the ring.

"That's some big talk Beth" I said in an obnoxiously patronizing voice, that turned dark as I began to speak again, "but the last time you and I locked up without rules to stop us, you were the one who took an impromptu nap at the end. I don't see any reason why the same thing won't happen again tomorrow. Good luck though. I hope your bruised ego doesn't get in your way too much. I'd like it to be at least a little big of a challenge." I dropped the microphone and walked off, once again silencing the woman in the ring.

I vaguely heard Beth going off on some rant about how she would rise from the ashes like the mythical bird she was named for, or something like that, but I didn't care enough to pay too much attention.

The rest of the night actually passed without any drama. Well, any drama on my end, that is. Triple H announced one more match for the night: a match between John Cena and CM Punk for the right to face Alberto Del Rio for the WWE championship at Hell in a Cell, and that was about it. Christian demanded a rematch against Punk, who accepted, and won again. Other than that, it was a relatively uneventful Raw.

Since the ride to Boston would only be a couple hours, we actually ended up staying in a hotel that night. There was no reason to arrive at our destination at three in the morning, or so we figured. Of course, it didn't end up mattering, because I didn't sleep much anyway. I was too psyched up for my match against Beth.

When I couldn't stay in my room any more, I went down for breakfast. It was only five in the morning, but I really didn't give a shit. Phil was down there too, surprisingly.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nope. You?"

"Nope." I handed him a cup of coffee, and started eating. It reminded me a lot of our conversation the day after we met, actually.

We sat silently this time though, absorbed in our own thoughts. We both had important matches tonight, in our own ways. My match was to begin to redefine my division. His was for the number one contender spot for the title he by all accounts should have won a month ago. We both knew this, so there was nothing to say.

We got on the road soon after, neither of us wanting to sit around in Hartford for a second longer. At least when we were on the road, it felt like we were making progress, it felt like we were getting somewhere, getting closer, anything really.

I felt about the same way I did my first night in the WWE. This match… it wasn't for a title. It wasn't for a chance at the title. It was for something different, but it still mattered a hell of a lot to me, even if no one in the crowd, or in a suit, or even on the roster would understand it. I had something to prove. I had to win.

I paced. Phil sat. Naturally, even though the stakes in his match were tangible, and he was fighting for a shot at the most important title in the business, he was calmer than me. Or at least he seemed calmer.

We pulled into the arena at three. Smackdown would start at eight. "Five fucking hours" I muttered under my breath. Hell, I'd never said patience was one of my virtues. It isn't.

We had barely got off the bus and into the arena when I found a nice long hallway and started pacing again. That lasted all of five minutes before Phil grabbed me, and half-dragged me to the ring. "Get it out" he instructed, and we began to spar.

We went about half an hour, not enough to exhaust either of us, but enough that by the end of it, I felt more focused than nervous. By the end of it I was laying in the middle of the ring, panting. "Jesus. Yeah, you were right. As much as it kills me to say it."

He smirked. "Can I get that on tape?"

I rolled over, smacked him, then rolled back. The thing was, he really was right. The first ten minutes or so, I did absolutely suck. Then I fell back into my zone and was able to fight to my actual abilities.

The remaining time before the show started was less torturous. I was calmer, which made the time seem to pass more quickly. I warmed up, got some food, listened to some music, and eventually the match before mine was up. Phil stood waiting with me, which showed that he at least understood the meaning of the match, because he didn't usually do that anymore. "Kick her ass." he whispered when my music finally hit, squeezing my shoulder once. I nodded with a confidence that I didn't fully feel, and moved out to the ring, alone this time. Tamina offered to come with me, but I explained to her that I wanted to win this alone. Beth, miraculously, entered alone as well.

The match started out normally, the two of us trading punches. Then she attempted to clothesline me, and I dodged under it, rolling out of the ring. I reached underneath and felt my hands connect with a steel chair. _Perfect_.

Beth joined me outside of the ring, not noticing the chair until it connected with her side. She bent over, and I rolled back into the ring, not because I was worried about a count out, but because a decision could only happen inside the squared circle.

She finally came back in, dragging a table in with her. _The fuck did she get a table?_ I wondered, wishing that was what I'd blindly come up with in my quick sweep under the ring. But I still had my chair, and that was fine with me. She went for a kick, which I deflected with the chair, then gave her a shot that put her down temporarily.

While she was down I took the liberty of setting up the table that she was nice enough to provide. Unfortunately, I took too much time doing it, because I was spun around, and thrown straight through the table the second I finished assembling it. There really aren't words to describe the sensation of getting thrown through a folding table, except that it sucks.

I don't know why Beth didn't drag me off the shattered remains of the table and go for a cover right then and there, because if she had she probably would have won, but she didn't. Maybe she thought she had the match won regardless, and wanted to prolong the torture, I'm not sure, but I wasn't done yet. I stood up as fast as I possibly could, clotheslined her, and dragged her out of the ring, smashing her head into the announce table. I went for a DDT, but she blocked it, and shoved me off.

We brawled up the ramp and onto the stage. Beth planted me on the steel, but not hard enough to take me out. While still down, I swept her legs out from under her, took a few seconds to regroup, then stood up. Dragging a still dazed Beth to her feet, I dragged her back to the ring, shoulder blocked her to put her down long enough to put my plan into action, then walked over to the other corner of the ring where I'd left the chair.

I placed the chair in the center of the ring, ignoring the look that the referee was giving me. Then I dragged a dazed Beth back to her feet, and planted her with a storm front straight onto the steel chair. The three count was a formality at that point.

When the referee raised my hand, I couldn't quite believe it was over. Nonetheless, I grinned to the crowd, raised my fists over my head in my patented X then walked out of the ring to cheers, the caliber of which I had never received before. Clearly the crowd enjoyed seeing women in real matches.

Then, once I got backstage, an idea hit me. _I just beat the champion. That ought to put me in line for a title shot. Or at least, it would if I wasn't still so goddamn new here._

Whether or not I ended up in the running for the championship, which based on my rookie status I tended to doubt, I had a decisive, dominant, victory over the woman who was supposed to be at the top of the division, so much so that she was considered by many to be "untouchable". Today's match would definitely put me on the map, if I wasn't already.

Tamina was the first to congratulate me, followed by several other members of the roster, and finally Phil. "Damn fucking straight." he said, smiling approvingly at me.

There were another couple matches up, which went by very quickly, then the Main Event. I wished Phil luck, then retreated to a viewing room and locking the door so I could watch in peace.

I cringed and cheered above and beyond what was probably necessary at the tense moments of the match. There were a ton of close calls, and by the time the match was 20 minutes in, I was beginning to wonder if I was gonna have a coronary before the match was actually over. Finally though, it did end. And it ended with John Cena being put to sleep.

I cheered, then ran out to congratulate Phil when he came backstage again. "Not that anyone expected a different outcome but still, congratulations." I said, and he gave me his patented grin.

"I'm gonna win at Hell in a Cell" he declared.

I smiled at him. "I know." I said, before walking away, just as he had done several nights ago. It was fitting, and I knew he'd get the reference.

We both got changed, then met up again to head to the airport. We had three days off, and Phil and I were both going to our respective "homes", despite it being so short a time.

When we said our goodbyes at the airport, it was hard not to feel a twinge of sadness, just like last time. He pulled me into a hug, and though I stiffened at first, not used to physical contact of the non-threatening variety, I relaxed into it almost immediately. "See you Saturday," he said, before breaking the contact.

"Yep," I answered, walking away quickly so I didn't miss my flight.

I heard my name, and turned around. "Nice job today." He said simply.

"You too." I answered, and we went off in the direction of our respective flights.

By the time I got in, I wanted nothing more to go to sleep in my own goddamn bed, so I did. The rest of the three days I spent alternating between sleep, working out, and long hours spent on the Florida beach, whether swimming or just walking in the sand. In that way they passed quickly, although, just as before, I quickly grew bored of staying in one place. The three days I spent in Florida once again created the paradox of being amazingly restful and making me incredibly restless. I loved being there, but I couldn't wait to go back to the road and back to wrestling.

This time, there wasn't even any travel. The house show on Saturday would be in Orlando, which was an hour away from my house. The only thing I had to do was pick Phil up from the airport, and drive to the arena. Then Sunday, there was gonna be a house show in Tampa. I had already offered my guest room to Phil for Saturday night, which he accepted. After that we'd head to Miami for Monday Night Raw, then begin working our way up North, eventually ending up in Chicago for the Hell in a Cell pay-per-view.

Saturday morning rolled around and I was up and out of bed way earlier than I really needed to be, but I decided to make the most of it and pack up the majority of my shit, rather than waiting until tonight to do it.

Once I finished that, I ate a quick breakfast, by which I mean I inhaled a smoothie, and drove to the airport. Phil's flight miraculously got in on time despite the recent shitty weather, and we headed off to the arena. "How's Cabana?" I asked, knowing he would have spent as much time as possible with his best friend.

Phil laughed. "Good as always. He's getting a lot of gigs right now, which is great. Looks like things might be taking off for him."

"That's great!" I said, and though I'd never met the man, I meant it. I had a feeling that, though he'd never admit it, Phil spent quite a bit of time worrying about his friend. He definitely qualifies as being incredibly loyal, and Colt had fallen on a lot of hard times, his career not exactly skyrocketing the way Phil's had. Not to mention, from what I'd heard, Colt sounded like a great guy.

"You gotta meet him sometime" Phil remarked. "Maybe when the tour hits Chicago in a couple weeks."

I agreed readily, wanting to meet the man who had clearly become like a brother to Phil, then the conversation moved on to other things. We bantered back and forth until we got to the arena, then went our separate ways to get ready.

Eve had demanded a match against me tonight, much to my confusion, but it wasn't for a while, so I hung out with Tamina in her dressing room, speculating as to why Eve was suddenly so eager to get her hands on me…again.

A/N: But you'll have to wait until next chapter to find out XD Mainly because I wanted to get a chapter out, rather than spend any longer writing and force you guys to wait till tomorrow. Anyway, let me know what you think as always!


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Alright, a little more time killing with this chapter, then we're going to start to get into the meat of the story as it were. Also, I'm finally on spring break, which is probably going to mean a lot of updates this week. Hopefully. Thanks for the reviews, as always!

When my match with Eve finally rolled around, I still hadn't come up with a plausible explanation for why she was suddenly, and for no obvious reason, chomping at the bit to get her hands on me. The sadistic grin she gave me as I entered the right, however, suggested that her motivations were probably less than friendly.

The match started out without any other abnormalities, however, so I proceeded as usual. In fact, it was a completely normal matchup until I went up to the top rope to deliver a Tsunami Splash to Eve. Then, the moment I had balanced myself on the top turnbuckle, flames erupted from all around the ring, the sound and the jarring of the ropes as the fire sprang to life sending me tumbling down to the canvas just as Kane's music began to play. Eve stood smirking in the center of the ring, and the setup immediately became clear. _Of course, she's working with him again_, I thought dully as I laid in a heap in the ring, trying to regroup.

I didn't have long, however, because a dark, humorless chuckle that could only belong to the Devil's Favorite Demon reverberated through the arena, sending chills down my spine. I looked around for the source of the noise, and quickly, through the red haze that was now the only lighting in the arena, I spotted Kane on the tinatron. _At least he's not here._ "Bet you didn't expect to see me so soon, did you Amber?" he hissed, spitting my name out with a note of pure hatred in his voice. "Now that I have your attention, I just wanted to say this: what you did to me will not be forgotten. When I return, I will make it my only mission to make your life a living hell."

With the word 'hell,' a few things happened: the tinatron blacked out again, Kane's ringside fire-bomb things made an encore appearance, and Eve rolled me up for a cover, winning the match.

The shock of Kane's pyro wore off just in time for the shock of the match being over to hit me. I heard the bell, and vaguely understood its significance, but my rage registered much more clearly.

As much as I wanted to slam Eve's face into the canvas right then and there, I restrained myself, and climbed out of the ring instead, blood boiling. I walked purposefully, fueled by fury, until I got to Triple H's office.

"Amber, how you doing?" he asked, ignoring, or simply not noticing the fury in my face.

I half-growled at him. "Oh, fantastic, aside from being interrupted in the middle of my match by Kane, who I thought you suspended…"

That got his attention. "Kane?" he asked.

I nodded. "On the Tinatron. A;png with his music, and pyro. I don't really care about specifics though. I just want a rematch with Eve. I don't particularly like getting set up."

"I wonder how she pulled that off" he mused, "I did suspend Kane, so that shouldn't have been possible. But either way, you have your match. Monday night."

"Perfect" I grinned, thanking him and exiting the office.

I got back to the viewing area in Tamina's locker rom just in time to see Sheamus Brouge Kick Dolph Ziggler halfway out of the time zone, before tagging in Punk who gave him a GTS, apparently just for the hell of it, before pinning Ziggler for the win. Jack Swagger stood on the sidelines, dumbfounded.

"That match was over before the opening bell rang" I guessed, taking stock of the two teams, and of course Vickie Guererro, who was busy throwing a temper tantrum at ringside.

Tamina laughed. "Pretty much. Swagger and Ziggler never even got anything going."

_Shocking,_ I thought to myself, while also feeling a certain amount of private satisfaction that Ziggler had gotten the living daylights beat out of him…and I hadn't had to do it. At least not yet.

A few minutes later, Phil knocked on the dressing room door. I emerged. "Ready to go?"

He nodded, so I said a quick goodbye to Tamina, then we left the arena, beginning the hour-long drive to my Tampa apartment.

As soon as we were settled in my Jeep, Phil jumped straight to the point. "What are you gonna do about Kane?"

I shrugged, beginning to drive. "If he fucks with me, which I've accepted that he probably will, I'll beat the crap out of him until he learns to leave me the hell alone."

"And you're not worried about that?" he asked, an incredulous tone in his voice.

"Nope." I answered, and I wasn't. At least not yet. "I already dislocated his jaw. He's human just like everyone else. Not to mention, he pissed me off. Twice now. I'm looking forward to coming face to face with him again." _Maybe not looking forward to it,_ I admitted contemplatively, _but I'm not gonna cower in fear either. _

Phil whistled. "Ballsy." He remarked. "I know plenty of guys who couldn't be that nonchalant about a feud with Kane, and some of them are his size."

"Demons don't scare me." As soon as I said that, I realized that it had veered a bit away from the conversation at hand, so I was quick to add a joke to it before the personal side of the statement could be brought up. "I guess I'm just not normal."

Phil laughed. "No shit."

"I'm gonna smack you when we get out of this car," I vowed.

The ride fell silent for a while after that, but it was a comfortable silence. Eventually we arrived in Tampa, and when we got out of the car, the first thing I did was swat Phil's arm. "The fuck was that for?" he asked, apparently having forgotten our exchange about an hour before.

"Your little comment. Anyway, this is it." We walked up the steps to my apartment, and I gave Phil a quick tour before showing him where he'd be staying for the night. He retreated into the guest bedroom to freshen up, and I sank into my couch, still somewhat amazed that someone else was in my house. I'd set up the guest room both because I had come upon some extra (free) furniture, and on the nightmare's chance that my parents ever decided to show up on my doorstep. They never had, and thus the room had never seen any use. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that it would be inhabited by none other than CM Punk when I set up the room a year ago. _Well, maybe in my WILDEST dreams,_ I admitted to myself guiltily, _but that doesn't count._

I flicked on the TV, channel surfing until I realized that I should probably get us some food. Phil chose that moment to emerge. "You hungry?" I asked, mildly embarrassed that I hadn't thought of it earlier.

He laughed. "Always."

I rummaged through my nearly emprty fridge before coming to the conclusion that anything inside would either be lethal if consumed, or wouldn't be useful in creating a meal anyway. _This is why you plan ahead, _I berated myself. "Er… Mexican or Chinese?"

"Mexican." Phil answered instantly.

We ordered tacos and all sorts of other things, and spent about an hour pigging out while watching some horror film Phil had stumbled on while channel surfing.

I was finally starting to get into the movie when suddenly a flying tomato hit me in the face. "The fuck?" I shrieked as the cold wet fruit hit me, taking me entirely by surprise.

Phil just smirked at me. "Oh you do not want to go there." I warned.

He put his hands up in surrender. Then he flung another tomato.

At that point I was entirely torn. The juvenile part of me wanted to start a food fight to the death. The rest of me knew I'd be finding rotten tomatoes in corners of my apartment until the end of time if I did. The latter won out in the end.

"Nope," I shook my head, "I refuse to be dragged into this. I'm taking the high road."

A third tomato made me stand up. "Oh really?" he asked, doing the patented Punk-eyebrow-raise thing before standing up as well. Before I really knew what the fuck was going on, I was loaded onto his shoulders, and flipped ass over teakettle onto my couch.

"Erm, what was that for?" I asked the man who was now standing over me, an evil smirk in his eye.

"That," he replied, "was for beating me with my own move the other day."

I extricated myself from my couch before mock-glaring at him. He grinned back. "You set me up Punk!"

He snickered in response, which I guess is as close as he was gonna come to admitting it.

We traded insults for a while, then, when we realized it was nearing 3 AM, we headed off to bed. We didn't have far to travel tomorrow, so we could leave late, but it still seemed like a good idea to sleep while I still could. The sound of the waves and the smell of sea air seemed to make my insomnia retreat, at least for a while.

*The Next Day*

I warmed up backstage, not even sure who I was facing. I'd been added to the card last-minute apparently, and no one had bothered to notify me who I was actually up against. _Ah well, I'll know when the bell rings._ I thought, as I did my entrance.

It turns out I was set for a triple-threat match against AJ and Alicia Fox. Triple threat matches are arguably the hardest to win, but stipulation matches were always interesting.

The bell rang, ending my speculation for the time being. I figured the two smaller women would gang up on me, so I was shocked when AJ looked at me and pointed at Alicia. I nodded at her, and she held Alicia in what looked like a horribly unnatural position while I went up top, diving down onto the diva-turned-pretzel, who then rolled out of the ring, moaning.

"Now that we've taken out the trash," AJ said in an uncharacteristically dark tone, "let's go."

It seemed so completely unlike her for to say something like that, especially since she was normally so perky , but as much as I wanted to analyze that, the match was still underway.

AJ ended up pulling some moves out of her back pocket that I didn't know she had—real wrestling moves, no less—but ultimately I came out with the win. Alicia still hadn't made any attempt to get back in the ring.

Then, for the fourth time that night, AJ did something that surprised the hell out of me. She stood up when the referee was signaling me as the victor, grabbed my other arm, raised it in the air, and pointed to me, smiling.

I wanted to catch up with her after the show, not that I was sure what I would say if I did, but she was nowhere to be found. _Tomorrow,_ I vowed.

The next day came quickly, and after spending a good portion of the morning swimming in the Miami ocean, it was time for Raw before I knew it.

While I was waiting around backstage, Tamina came up to me. "Eve just found out about your match. She seemed seriously pissed." she warned.

I, however, was not phased in the slightest. "I figured. The bitch set me up and brought her 'boyfriend', or whoever the fuck he is, into our matchup. It's payback time."

She smiled approvingly at me, then my music hit, indicating that it was time for the match. Tamina and I entered first, then Eve came out, flanked by the Bella twins. _Naturally. She brought her bodyguards._

I was determined not to let her distractions cost me another match, however, so I put the Bellas out of my mind—although not too far out, in case they tried to pull something—and focused in on the match as the opening bell rang.

The match itself was nothing to write home about. In fact, it was over in all of thirty seconds. Eve had pissed me off, and that didn't do her any favors in our matchup. She didn't even get out of the starting gate. A few punches led straight into the Scales of Justice, which seemed incredibly fitting, all things considered. Eve tapped frantically the second I locked in the hold, and the match was over. It was the aftermath that was the interesting part.

Eve didn't stay down for long, and by the time the Bella twins had entered the ring, she was standing and poised for a fight. Tamina climbed inside as well, and a brawl ensued.

Somehow or another things ended up looking slightly tense for us at one point. We were technically better, but the other three women didn't like me all that much, and the numbers game combined with whatever anger they had towards me was slowly giving them an edge. That is, until we were all distracted by an unknown theme song reverberating through the ring. It was some dark rock song, and I liked it, a lot. Then AJ came sprinting out of the back, performing a quick finisher on Eve. Tamina and I took the opening and put the Bellas down. In the interim, AJ grabbed a microphone. It was only when our three attackers were down for the count that I noticed our unlikely ally had traded in her previous ring wear for more practical, modest wrestling gear. She had gone from 'diva' to 'kickass,' apparently overnight.

My thoughts were cut off when she began to speak. "I've been watching you guys for a while, and I realized—you're right Amber. This division needs to become respectable again, and I want to help. I want to join you guys."

I had all of three seconds to consider her words, and spent them grabbing a microphone from a stage hand. Tamina gave her opinion through a slight nod, but I knew ultimately the decision would be up to me.

I had no real reason to trust AJ, but no real reason not to either. Her complete transformation was rapid and unexpected, and raised a few questions, but that didn't necessarily speak to whether or not she was genuine. And compared to the rest of the women, she was a decent fighter, she had proven as much in our match yesterday.

As I pondered as quickly as possible, trying to make the right call despite being blindsided and pressured by time, I heard the fans chanting "YES! YES! YES!" just as AJ's ex boyfriend used to. That, combined with the track my thoughts were already going down, made the choice obvious.

"Well AJ," I looked at the woman in front of me, who was dressed like a punk rocker and looked like she had found new confidence in the role she had recently adapted. Gone was the skittish girl who had bowed down to the will of the former World Heavyweight Champion. I could see as much in her eyes. "We could use all the help we can get. Besides, what I'm doing here, it isn't about being a member, it's about being a part of a movement, a movement that would be happy to have anyone who's serious about changing things on board."

As I shook AJ's hand, the crowd cheered, then Tamina and I got on either side of her, each of us raising one of her arms in unity.

When we got backstage, I pulled AJ aside immediately. "Look," she said, "I know this seems out of the blue, but just give me a chance, alright? I really love what you're doing here, and I want to be a part of it. Besides, I can help."

"It does seem sudden," I admitted, "but you've changed. I can see it. And you and I have never had a problem. So like I said in the ring, welcome aboard."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Well, I gotta go. See you around?"

I nodded, and she left me to my thoughts. When I came into WWE, I had never really planned on leading (or even being a part of) a group, especially not so soon. But ultimately, if it meant the goal was gaining momentum, that was what mattered.

By the time I got back to the locker room, which I was now officially sharing with Tamina, the next match (Randy Orton vs. Jack Swagger) was already nearing an end. Swagger received an RKO, and that was the end of that.

A commercial break later, Triple H came out to the ring. "While this was actually decided last week on Smackdown, there wasn't any announcement about it, so at this time I'd like to formally declare CM Punk the Number One Contender for the WWE championship. He will challenge Alberto Del Rio inside Hell in a Cell for the title in two weeks."

"Cult of Personality" came on, and CM Punk made his way into the ring for his match. First, however, he gave a quick promo about the pay-per-view. It was brilliant, as always. He then proceeded to kick the Miz's teeth down his throat in an amazing (if very brief) match.

"Well, if CM Punk keeps fighting like that, I'd say his chances at Hell in a Cell are looking pretty good." Jerry Lawler said over commentary. I couldn't help but agree. I didn't see Punk losing to the Mexican Aristocrat in a high stakes match again.

I found Phil after the show and congratulated him, even though the announcement was merely a formality. "I should be congratulating you," he said, "you're already running a stable, and you're barely a month into the company."

I laughed. "Not my intention, believe me. I'm more of a one-woman revolution type. But I guess things just happen sometimes."

He smiled knowingly. "Yeah, that's kinda what happened with me and the Nexus…" he trailed off. "Then again, we all saw how well that worked out."

I shrugged. "It led you to Money in the Bank though, and that was fucking awesome."

"True." he grinned. "The lock on McMahon's face was priceless."

And with that we started making our way back to the bus. Smackdown would be taping in Atlanta tomorrow, meanwhile the Raw roster would be putting on a house show in some small college town in the northeast corner of the state. It was about nine hours away, not counting stops which almost always ate up a couple hours, so we got on the road right away.

By the time we hit whatever small down we were scheduled to put on the show in, it was well past noon. The bus had broken down mid-ride, and the ensuing clusterfuck had taken several hours to resolve.

"It's a good thing we left early…" Phil remarked, looking more tired than usual. Neither of us had gotten any sleep with everything that had gone on last night.

"Yeah…" I stretched out, trying to loosen up my muscles which had spent the past four hours twisting themselves into pretzels while I sat curled up in a char.

We still had some time, so we walked to a nearby restaurant and got a late lunch. By the time we'd finished up there, it was time to go to the arena.

Phil had a non-title match against Alberto Del Rio to whet the fans' appetites for next Sunday, and I had another match against Kelly Kelly. It would be a fairly uneventful night, assuming nothing went wrong.

It was, in fact, a rather dull night. At least by Raw standards. Phil lost, but only because of Ricardo Rodriguez's interference, which wouldn't be possible when he and Alberto were locked inside the cell next week, so it wasn't that big of a deal, and I put Kelly down for the win.

We spent that night at a hotel, which enabled me to go for a midnight run. After that, I collapsed into bed for a few hours of fitful sleep.

The next morning dawned on a day off for the entire roster, which Tamina, AJ, and I had agreed to spend in the gym.

By the time the marathon session was over, I found myself missing my regular sparring partner. Things were coming together between the three of us, and Tamina and I made a fairly solid tag team, enough to boost my confidence considerably for the pay-per-view, but I wanted a real match, and for that, I'd need to be fighting Phil, or one of the other guys.

I sat down on the bus, the concept of another night on the road combined with estrogen overdose putting me in a less than fantastic mood. Rather than risk taking it out on Phil, I went straight to bed, although I had no actual hope of being able to sleep.

*The next day*

Randy Orton and I stood around backstage, waiting for our mixed tag team match against Brie Bella and Alberto Del Rio. For the sake of keeping the match from dissolving into complete chaos, everyone was banned from ringside. In a way, I was glad for that. It would be nice to have a match without any outside distraction. It would inevitably be an interesting night.

Brie and I started off, although we didn't really end up spending much time in the ring. I punched her in the face, admittedly harder than I'd intended, her nose started bleeding profusely, she tagged Alberto in, and left. Thus, according to the rules of the match, I was forced to make the tag to Randy, and stand in the corner, staring into the ring for the rest of the match if I didn't want us both to be disqualified.

Randy really didn't have much trouble putting Alberto away, so it didn't really matter, but it was still frustrating to sit on the sidelines.

When the match was over and I joined Randy in the ring to celebrate "our" victory, Alberto snarled at me, and when Randy went to pose on a turnbuckle, he glared at me and said in a voice that would freeze blood, "I will make you pay." The line itself would have been comical due to it's clichéd nature, if not for its terrifying delivery.

I shuddered as the man rolled out of the ring, but recovered quickly as Randy turned around to face me again. I wasn't going to give any indication of what had just happened.

It was only when I got back to the locker room, which was mercifully empty, that I allowed myself to feel the full extent of the fear that Del Rio's words had inspired in me. The words themselves were not that fear-inspiring, but the wrath behind them, combined with not having any concept of what incited that wrath, was.

_What's the worst he can do?_ I rationalized. _I can take him. _I paced around the dressing room until I had expended the nervous energy, then laid down on a bench, taking some deep breaths and reminding myself that getting threatened wasn't a new experience for me, and my track record of dealing with schmucks was pretty good. There was no reason why his words had shaken me up more than Kane's, or anyone else's for that matter, and as soon as I realized that, I relaxed considerably.

The next thing that registered was someone touching me, and flinging out a fist that connected with something hard. The resulting grunt brought me back to consciousness. Tamina was now halfway across the room, hand covering her left eye. "Remind me not to wake you up again." she smirked.

I bolted upright, things starting to make a lot more sense. "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm not good with people touching me when I'm asleep. Then again, I didn't really plan on falling asleep on a locker room bench either."

"I figured." she said. "The show's over by the way."

I did some quick calculations and realized I'd slept, at most, twenty minutes. On a hard bench. _Fucking fantastic._ "Alright, thanks." I bolted out of the room. "Sorry, again…"

She laughed. "No worries. See you Saturday."

I wandered off, finding the tour bus once again. We had about an hour's drive ahead of us, then a hotel, where we could stay for two nights. We had tomorrow off since it was Friday, then Saturday there was another house show, Sunday most of the bigger Superstars had signings and stuff during the day and the evening off – I meanwhile had the entire day off—followed by Raw in Mephis on Monday.

"You look like shit" Phil greeted, smiling at me.

I glared at him. "I just fell asleep in a goddamn locker room. Try it sometime and see how you look."

He smirked, and started a long banter session that took us all the way to the hotel. When we finally got there, I collapsed into yet another brief, interrupted sleep.

A/N: Long chapter! The next one will hopefully be up in the next couple days. Until then, please review!


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: This chapter was absolutely impossible to write, and while I'm still not convinced I have it where I want it, by the fifteenth attempt I pretty much gave up trying to find a way to improve it. It's not as good as it could be, I don't think, but it's good as it was gonna get without me putting another week into it. Also, I didn't get a single review last chapter. I really look forward to getting your feedback after posting, so that was disappointing. Please review guys! It really motivates me to keep writing.

The next day went by quickly. Phil and I spent most of it in the gym, alternating between ringwork and lifting. He gave me some really useful tips that helped me work out the kinks in some new techniques I'd been working on, and by the end of the day I felt exhausted, but accomplished.

The following morning dragged on, but eventually it was time for the house show. I didn't have a match, but I'd be in the corner of AJ and Tamina while they teamed up against Kelly Kelly and Alicia Fox.

Their match was incredibly short, but successful, AJ pinning Kelly a few seconds after the bell. I was a bit disappointed I didn't get to see what the two of them could do as a team, but AJ's display of total dominance gaae me new confidence in our ability to override the status quo. _I don't know where this little group of ours is going,_ I mused, _but regardless, this is one hell of a good sign. _

We walked backstage together, and suddenly AJ interjected. "I kinda forgot till now, but I heard everyone's going to a club tomorrow night after their signings and stuff. Do you guys want to go?"

Tamina agreed readily. Finally I conceded as well, but with much less enthusiasm, and a silent vow to drag Phil along as well, so I'd have someone sober to talk to as the night wore on.

*The Next Day*

I spend the majority of the morning and afternoon in varying degrees of boredom. Most of the Superstars had autograph signings or the like, and there was nothing within walking distance of the hotel that was worth doing, so I spent most of the day reading in my room.

Finally, around five or a bit thereafter, I got a text from Phil that read **Wrapping up here. Meet you at your room around 6? – Punk **

**See you then—Amber**

A few more minutes passed before I dragged myself lazily out of bed to get ready, not that there was that much to do anyway, besides shower and put on something other than my pajamas, that is.

Around quarter to six there was a knock on my door. _Why the fuck does he always insist on being frustratingly early?_ I wondered, not quite ready to leave yet.

However, when I answered the door, it was not Phil who I saw standing outside my room, but Alberto Del Rio. I smelled the alcohol on his breath before he got the chance to speak, and almost gagged from the intensity of it. _Jesus, what'd he take a bath in tequila?_ I thought, disgusted. Meanwhile, I said "You must've taken a wrong turn. The party's at the club, not here. Then again, I think you've had enough already." I went to shut the door, but found that it was impeded by his foot.

That was when the fear set in. "Alright. What the fuck do you want then?"

He laughed, but it was a humorless, blood-chilling sound. "Revenge, puta," he slurred. "You fucked with the Bellas, now I'm going to fuck with you. And trust me, I'm gonna enjoy this." Then, without telegraphing in the slightest, he shoved his way inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

His hand clamped down around my throat like a vice. I threw a wildly aimed punch, but was out of range, and my feet were occupied with trying to remain standing. My best attempts, however, were proven futile when he threw all of his body weight and all of his leverage behind a combined effort to put me down on the floor. I fell with a muffled gasp as his weight came down on me.

I felt the first few punches fuzzily, but soon the pressure of his hand on my throat was enough to pull me down into unconsciousness.

When my protesting body came back to consciousness, I was completely bare from the waist up, the floor around me covered in torn remains of my shirt, my bra was unclasped leaving my cleavage entirely exposed, and the hand that Del Rio had been using to restrain me was now occupied with fondling my chest.

I didn't allow myself to feel the horror of the situation in that moment. He hadn't realized I was conscious yet, and he'd made a fundamental mistake b y easing up on the method of restraint that had forced me into submission. I realized I had an opportunity to escape, and in that moment focused entirely on that.

As Del Rio's other hand moved southward, I sprang into action all at once, aiming for shock value and effective attacks in equal parts. I gave a battle cry—a scream made to instill fear rather than reveal it, headbutted him in the nose, brought my knee up to his groin, and rolled out from under him while he was still too shocked to do anything about it. Then I grabbed his collar, dragged him to his feet, and threw open the door, forcing him out it. "If you come back, you're leaving in a body bag." I growled with far more confidence than I actually felt, before shutting the door and bolting it.

I managed to reclasp my bra, throw on a sweatshirt, and curl up in a ball on my bed before I began to shake. I willed myself not to cry, but I couldn't quite stop the shock reaction.

Some time later—it could have been seconds, or hours, or anything in between—there was another knock at my door. I seized up in fear. "I thought I told you what would happen if you came back fuckwit." I said, trying to sound tougher than I was.

"Amber, it's me…" I heard Phil's voice, rather than my assailant's, and my muscles unclenched. There was an undeniable question in his voice, from the comment I had just made to the door, and as much as I didn't want anyone to see me, I knew I'd have to explain.

I got off the bed, still wary, and looked through the peephole. "Are you alone?" I asked, concerned that Del Rio would attempt to use the opportunity that my open door would provide to force his way back in.

"Of course I'm alone… What—" I opened the door, and his eyes widened in horror and anger. "Who?" he asked, his tone far gentler than the look in his eyes.

"Come in and shut the door" I said wearily, half-falling back onto the bed, but managing a sitting position, hugging my knees tightly to my chest.

Phil meanwhile was, I think, trying to put the mices together as he alternated between looking at the destruction all around the room, and looking back at me. Finally he sat down at the foot of the bed, putting his hand on my knee. I flinched badly before logic caught up to instinct and I accepted the contact. "What happened?"

I collected myself, or at least tried, then said. "Del Rio showed up, I thought it was you so I opened the door…. He was drunk, and pissed, and he…"

Phil's expression actually darkened, which, before it happened, I wouldn't have thought was possible. "Did he…?" he asked, unwilling or unable to complete the sentence, though the question itself was obvious.

I shook my head. "He would have though… if I hadn't gotten my shit together in time." I relayed the entire story, pausing frequently throughout in an attempt to maintain what was left of my composure. When I was finally done, however, he said nothing. "I shouldn't have let it get that far…" I rambled, mistaking his silence for blame. "If I had just checked the door… or done SOMETHING…"

He stopped me with a look. "This is not your fault," he said deliberately, and with such finality that it left no room for me to think otherwise. "How badly did he hurt you?"

"It's all superficial," I said, judging by the fact that I wasn't in horrible pain anywhere. I hadn't exactly looked at what the damage was, but there was nothing to suggest that he had had done any serious harm, at least not physically.

He reached over slowly, and brushed back my hair, which had apparently fallen out of, or been removed from, its ponytail. He looked at my neck, and between his reaction and the fact that I could still feel Del Rio's fingers compressing my blood supply, I knew there were some fairly prominent marks. "I will fucking kill him." he said finally, his voice full of rage.

"He won't even remember this tomorrow," I said flatly, then, not sure if I was talking to Phil or to myself, I asked, "why does this keep happening to me?"

Phil looked up at me, confusion written on his face. "What do you mean?"

I sighed, and prepared to tell him the one secret I had left. "Two years ago… I was walking home from work and some guy came up behind me…" I paused as the tears finally started to fall, "he hit me over the head with something, and when I woke up my hands were tied and he… he was…" I couldn't quite make myself say it, but Phil's face said that he understood. "That's why I tried to…" I gestured at my wrists, and only then realized that my gloves were gone.

Phil closed his eyes, sighed, and when he opened them again he looked extremely tired, but not in the way that any amount of sleep would cure. I cried openly now, starting to shake again. "Why do they always find me?" I asked again.

He pulled me into him, and I was too tired, or too far gone, or too scared to resist. My head fell on his chest and we sat there for quite a while. "I don't know why, there probably isn't a reason. But I won't let it happen again," he vowed, and the weight of his words hung in the room for quite a while afterwards. Finally, he broke the silence. "We should go to the police."

I sat straight up, looking at him in terror. "No. Please don't… I don't want to."

"Why not?" he asked.

I shook my head. "It isn't worth it."

He gave me a look that explained exactly how much he didn't agree with my decision, but eventually agreed. "Alright. Well, why don't you stay with me tonight? This room isn't exactly the best place for you to be."

I agreed, and we moved my stuff over to his room. When we were done, I finally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The bruising on my neck was already obvious, and would only become more so in the next few hours. My lip was split open, I had the makings of a black eye, and I could feel bruises forming under my shirt that I didn't dare to look at. I cleaned myself up as best I could, and Phil ordered room service.

We ate in silence, each absorbed in our own thoughts until I finally said, "I need to go home." It sounded odd coming out of my mouth, given that I wasn't big on declaring anywhere home, but when I said it, I meant my apartment in Tampa. It was the closest thing I had to home short of the tour bus and the ring. "I'll be back for the Pay- Per- View, but I just need some time away from here, away from the ring right now. I can't fight like this."

Phil exhaled heavily. "Alright. Do you want help making the arrangements?"

I shook my head. "It'll give me something to do." He nodded his understanding. He seemed to be looking for something to say, but was uncharacteristically silent.

I spent the next hour or so booking flights and talking to the higher-ups about taking a few days of "Personal time." I claimed there had been a family emergency, which they seemed to buy, and soon enough I had everything set. I would leave at nine the next morning.

Phil agreed to drive me to the airport in the morning more than willingly, and after that we put on a movie which we only half-heartedly watched, and only because we had to do something. Finally I grew tired, though I had been sure I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. I crawled under the covers of the bed that we had both been sitting on, and Phil moved to get up. "Would you stay?" I asked, knowing that his presence would give me comfort.

"Sure," he half-smiled at me, laying back on top of the sheets. Amazingly, for whatever reason, I did in fact fall asleep.

I woke up at five, just in time for the continental breakfast to begin. Phil was awake. Whether he had slept at all, I couldn't tell. "I'm gonna go get something to eat," I said quietly.

"I'll come with you," he offered, putting down his comic book.

I shook my head. "Don't worry about it. It'll be full of people down there."

"You sure?" he asked.

I nodded. "You want me to bring you something back?"

"I'm good, thanks." He answered. "Call me if you need something."

I agreed, and left, indescribably grateful that I had Phil, but somewhat embarrassed that my life had come to the point where I was somewhat afraid to get breakfast by myself.

It, of course, ended up being a perfectly safe venture. However, when I came back to Phil's room, coffee in hand for my impromptu roommate, I saw my gloves outside the door, a piece of paper taped to them. I picked up the gloves and examined the note. It read:

Amber, I know your Secret. I won't tell if you won't. –ADR

I shuddered, unable to believe he had a clear enough memory of last night's ventures to remember seeing the scars on my wrists. I put the gloves on, and crumpled up the note, putting it in my pocket before entering the room.

"I brought you a coffee." I said, setting the hot beverage down on Phil's nightstand as he looked up at me.

"Thanks." he smiled at me. "You got your gloves back…where were they?"

_Fuck._ "In my room," I lied, not wanting to admit to the blackmail. "I realized they were missing so I doubled back for them. They were under the bed."

"I would've gone with you…" he said.

I shook my head. "I had a bad incident, but I'm not gonna live my life in fear, or refuse to go to my own hotel room without a body guard. There's no way I can go back to normal if I don't act normally."

After that, I got my stuff together, and soon enough we were on our way to the airport. Phil walked in with me, keeping me company as I waited for my flight to be called. When it finally was, I pulled him into a hug, tears welling in my eyes. "Thank you." I said.

"Don't worry about it. Call me if you want to talk, alright?"

I nodded. "See you in a few days Punk. Kick ass tonight."

"Always." He smiled.

With that, I waved goodbye and boarded the plane that would take me home, where I would hopefully be able to recover enough to face Beth Pheonix confidently on Sunday.

The first few days were difficult. By the time I got home and settled, it was time for Raw, so I watched that. The only important segment was Punk cutting a scathing promo on Del Rio, which I knew was fueled by yesterday's events. He vowed to rip him limb from limb, saying that 'scum like him' not only didn't deserve a championship, they 'didn't deserve to walk the earth'. He revealed nothing, but his determination to win seemed only redoubled, and I knew that he would enjoy the opportunity to destroy Del Rio inside the cell.

After that the days blended together until Friday rolled around, my last full day in Florida. At that point though, I was beginning to feel a bit more removed from the incident, and a bit calmer in general. The idea of returning to the ring, however, was still a source of anxiety.

When Saturday night rolled around though, and it was time to board my flight, a red-eye, no less, I forced myself to get on the plane. I knew the only way to continue to recover was to go back. _You can't run forever, _ I reminded myself, _and I have unfinished business with Beth Phoenix._

A/N: I know it was a short chapter, but so much happened, and there's no way I was gonna start writing the pay-per-view here too. Especially since I still need to figure out some of the lesser match details. You guys can probably expect that chapter before Sunday night, but as usual no promises. Please review though!


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: THANK YOU for the reviews guys! They're much appreciated. So, since I gave you guys a rather short chapter yesterday, and all the great reviews, I'm gonna try to get this up today (Thursday). I think that last one will end up being the hardest chapter to write in this entire story, so now that that's done we can hopefully start rolling with faster updates again. Also, just to clarify, ADR was chosen randomly. I wasn't suggesting anything about race or anything else by choosing him. No one said anything about it but I wanted to make sure that was clear.

My plane touched down in Chicago at an obscene hour of the morning, and by the time I recovered my baggage, which somehow ended up on the wrong trolly thing, the sun was barely beginning to peep out in the horizon. When I found Phil, however, he was wide awake and holding out a cup of coffee. I took it gratefully. "How are you?" he asked. I could barely see his face under the hood he was wearing to keep himself from getting mobbed by fans, but I could make out the concern written in his eyes.

"Better." I said confidently. "The time off did me some good, but I'm glad to be back. And I can't wait to kick some ass tonight."

"Me neither" he replied darkly, but then he moved on to a lighter topic. "Welcome to my hometown!" he said as we exited the airport and walked out into the chill morning air.

"It's nice!" I said, looking around at the city. It reminded me somewhat of Boston, but was still very different in the atmosphere.

We found our way to his car, and went back to his place. "Ready to meet Colt?" he asked, already grinning at the prospect.

His smile was contagious. "Definitely."

He opened the door, and I walked into what I presumed was his living room. Sitting on the couch was the man who I instantly recognized as Colt Cabana, from the many pictures Phil had shown me of their many adventures. He grinned and stood. "Amber, I presume?"

"Who me? Nah I'm just some random girl this Punk decided to bring home" I quipped, before nodding and shaking his hand. "Nice to finally meet you Mr. Cabana, I've heard at lot about you."

He scoffed. "For god sakes, call me Colt. Any friend of Punk is a friend of mine. Especially since he doesn't seem to make many friends to begin with." he winked at me, and Phil rolled his eyes, while smiling to make it clear that he wasn't actually mad.

"And what about you Cabana?" Phil asked playfully. "Last I looked, you don't spend ninety percent of your time on my couch because you have better places to be."

The two of them got into a play-brawl and I sat back, laughing my ass off at the two of them. Finally, when I was fairly sure they'd stopped, Colt looked over at me. "Clearly you're still a horrible host Punk. You planning on offering this lovely lady some food?"

I snorted at 'lovely lady,' and Phil glared at his friend. "I was just gonna start on breakfast when you attacked me." he said playfully.

"Sure you were." Colt smirked, then looked at me. "He would forget his head if I didn't screw it on every time I saw him."

I laughed. "Aww give him some credit. He'd probably remember it ONCE in a while…"

Phil turned his glare on me. "Don't start something you can't finish Punk" I quipped. And with that, for the second time in a little over a week, I found myself halfway- GTS'ed onto a couch.

"You were saying?" he smirked.

"I think I was saying something about breakfast…" Colt inserted.

Phil rolled his eyes. "Yes Colton, we realize that you need to eat every hour on the dot. Normal people can wait a little longer than that." Colt laughed, but moved towards the kitchen.

We had a very jovial breakfast, and by the end of it I felt like the last of my old self had been restored. Phil, it turns out, is a fantastic cook, and between my attempts to help (which mainly avoided doing things that couldn't result in the house being set on fire…my cooking skills aren't anything to write home about, despite the fact that I'd been cooking for myself since I was seven years old), and Colt sitting back and yelling insults at Phil, it made for a rather quick, and extremely amusing meal.

When we were done eating and everything was (relatively) cleaned up, Phil asked, "So, what time do you want to get to the arena?"

I shrugged. "Maybe around four?"

He grinned. "Perfect. I can show you around the city first."

We gathered our things quickly, opting to bring our gear along too so we wouldn't have to double back if time got tight, then said goodbye to Colt. "Good luck tonight!" he wished both of us as we left.

"I like him," I remarked. "He's a lot like you."

Phil laughed. "He's great. I just wish he would get into the industry. I hate seeing him struggle along like this."

"He seems alright," I remarked, "but yeah. He'd be great in WWE too." I'd seen some clips of him wrestling, and his technical skills were great, and clearly he had the charisma.

"It's one of my life goals," Phil stated, and I wasn't sure exactly how much of that statement was meant in jest, so I left it alone.

We spent several hours touring the city, Phil showing me his old hangouts, his old dojo, his first gym, and all the best (and worst) restaurants in town. We stopped for lunch at his favorite, and the food was absolutely amazing. Then we wandered around on foot for a while before heading back to the car and getting ready to go to the arena.

The drive was longer than we anticipated because of the suddenly heavy traffic, but we still got there by 4:30. Phil seemed tense as we pulled in to the Superstars-only parking lot, so I asked, "what, is this the first time you've ever been late in your life?"

He laughed. "Something like that, yeah. I hate being late."

I looked pointedly at the clock. "We still have three and a half hours before the show starts. I don't think we exactly qualify as late."

We got out of the car. "I suppose," he said melodramatically, before cracking up.

Once we got inside the arena, we parted ways. "Find me before the show alright?" Phil said in parting. I agreed, and headed off to the dressing room.

Tamina and I spent the better part of an hour talking strategy, and that was only after she and AJ had asked me a million and one questions about where I'd been, all of which I dodged effectively. By the time I got changed after that, it was nearing 6:30. Tamina said that our match would probably be somewhere around 8:30, it was the second match on the card, so I promised to find her again by the start of the pay per view.

I sought out Phil and found him at catering, but we ended up going back to his dressing room. "Excited for your match?" he asked casually, but I heard the question underneath it just as clearly as the one he'd actually asked.

"Yeah," I answered, "my first Pay-Per-View. I don't really see us losing though."

He nodded. "Technical wrestling beats flair every time. You'll do fine."

"What about you?" I asked. "Ready to take the title back?"

His eyes grew dark. "I'm ready to take more than that."

"Don't kill him." I said quietly. "As long as you don't kill him, it'll be fine."

Phil glowered. "I'm not gonna kill him" he replied evenly, "I'm gonna make him fucking wish I had though."

"Leave enough of him for me to get my hands on." I insisted. "I have a beef with him too."

"Oh I know," he said. "I just have a problem with anyone who uses their size to push people around. Not to mention the rest of it."

"Please don't." I said quietly. "I'd rather not think about it."

"Fair enough," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head. "Don't be. I'd just rather not start…thinking…again."

With that we moved on to lighter topics, and we were chatting and bantering by the time the show was about to start. "Kick ass." I said, as I left Phil's dressing room, knowing he would anyway.

"You too." he said. "See you after the show."

I walked back to Tamina's locker room in time to see the opening of the Pay Per View, followed by the first match. Christian would be defending his World Heavyweight Championship against Randy Orton inside Hell in a Cell.

We moved backstage during the entrances so we'd actually be able to see the match, and got there just in time for the bell. It was a long and brutal match, but Christian somehow escaped with the title, thanks to a well aimed chair shot, followed with a Killswitch. "Not what I expected," I remarked to Tamina, whose look said it all.

"Me either."

We didn't really have time to chat though, as our match was up. We walked out, me on somewhat shaky legs. I wasn't ready to admit it, and it was no time to be doing so, but my confidence was a bit weak at the moment.

The Glamazon and her partner entered after us, then before I knew it the match was underway. Tamina started off against Beth, putting her on the ground a few times before tagging me in. That gave Beth the opportunity to roll over to Natalya however, so we were both fresh.

Natalya glared at me as we circled each other, looking for an opening. Finally she threw a punch. I ducked under it, and followed it up with an elbow to the kidneys, dropping her down. I went for a quick win with the Scales of Justice, but she was too quick, rolling through it and pinning me. She got the one count out of the shock value of the move, but that was it.

Back on our feet, we circled again, and this time it was my turn to throw the first punch. She dodged it, ran the ropes, and clotheslined me with a vengeance.

I jumped up, dodged her attempt at a second clothesline, and used her arm as leverage to flip her over and down onto the mat. I put her into an arm lock, a submission that was reminiscent of my days in judo, and attempted to get her to tap out. She got to the ropes, however, forcing a break.

She jumped over to Beth, making the tag, but I wasn't quite done in the middle of the ring. I decided to give up on submissions temporarily, since they weren't particularly working for me in this setting, and went back to my usual brawling style.

I gave Beth a few punches, followed by a swinging neckbreaker. With that, I dragged her into the corner, performing a Tsunami Splash on her and rolling straight into the cover. She barely managed to get her foot on the ropes, forcing the match to continue.

I dragged her up by her shirt, into the center of the ring, where I performed a Storm Front so hard that both of us were up in the air at one point. The cover, at that point, was a formality.

It was only when the referee raised my arm in victory that I believed it was over. Tamina joined me in the ring, raising my other arm, and my music hit while Beth and Natalya rolled out of the ring and walked backstage, glaring at us groggily.

"You did it!" Tamina exclaimed.

"We did it." I stated emphatically as we posed on the turnbuckles.

We went backstage, stopped at catering to grab some food, then went back to our locker room to catch the rest of the matches. By the time we got back the next match was already underway, but was apparently still in the starting moments. It was a match between Mark Henry and Lord Tensai, hopefully to put an end to their rivalry which had become increasingly dangerous in the recent weeks as the two behemoths collided week after week.

I was sure the ring was going to collapse like it had when Mark Henry faced the Big Show nearly a year earlier, but luck seemed to be on the big men's sides that night. The match itself was painful to watch, seeing (and hearing) the two giants hit each other, and the mat, was cringe worthy. Eventually, however, Mark Henry's veteran status allowed him to capture the win. Frankly, by the end of the match, I didn't care who won, I was just glad it was over.

A few promo/ commercial videos aired next, giving anyone who was watching at home the chance to run for more beverages or to take a quick bathroom break, followed by the match for the Intercontinental Championship. Wade Barrett was getting his rematch against Zack Ryder, and he looked like he would walk through a brick wall to reclaim his title.

Zack, however, had the advantage of being smaller, and by extension, faster. He, as Booker T so adequately put it "stayed on his bicycle" and avoided Barrett's power moves in favor of quick jabs, and blitz attacks. "Jesus, he's getting a hell of a lot better at strategizing" I mused, thinking of his less than fortunate encounters with Kane earlier on in the year.

"Cena's been working with him on that" Tamina answered. "And clearly it shows." With that, Zack pulled off his patented Rough Ryder, and that was the end of that, much to Barrett's apparent amazement.

Next up was Sheamus' match against the Miz, another match to end the feud that had been boiling over between the two of them for a while, the Miz finding a way to attack Sheamus at every turn.

The match lasted all of a minute before the Miz got his face brogue-kicked right off. It was a truly enjoyable sight. _Clearly someone had no idea what the fuck they were getting into when they decided to mess with the Celtic Warrior, _I thought to myself while laughing at the look the Miz was wearing, a mixture of shock and fury.

The second to last match on the card was for the United States Championship. Kofi Kingston was set to defend his title against R-Truth, who had recently emerged as a serious contender. They went back and forth for far longer than I anticipated, the number of near-falls racking up to somewhere around twenty. Finally Kofi struck with Trouble in Paradise for the win, but it was a close match, and when it was over the two of them ended up shaking hands.

Another quick break was followed by the introduction for the WWE championship match. "Who do you think wins this one?" Tamina asked.

"Punk, hands down." I answered, just glad the match was inherently no-disqualification. Otherwise I wouldn't have been quite so sure.

"Any particular reason?" she asked. "I mean, I agree with you, but you seem really sure."

I smirked to myself. "He has a bit of a personal vendetta against… against Del Rio. There's no way he loses tonight."

I ended up being right about that. From the moment the bell rang, there was no question of who the dominant player was in the match up. Punk could have won within a minute, but he refused to go in for the cover, despite the referee's pleading with him, which was audible even through the TV.

Once the sledgehammer came out, however, it was beyond over. I read Punk's lips as he struck Del Rio. He said something along the lines of "Nobody does that and gets away with it."

"What's he saying?" Tamina asked.

I shrugged. "No idea."

Finally, I think he realized he had taken it far enough, and went in for the cover. The three count was practically a joke. Del Rio wasn't kicking out of anything. The commentators were musing about what made Punk go "crazy" all of a sudden, but they couldn't come up with anything besides an intense drive to reclaim the title.

The referee handed Punk the title, and I could see in his eyes that he'd forgotten what the match was supposed to be about, but immediately regained himself, raising the title high over his head as the music hit. "I'll be back." I said, running backstage to await the new champion.

When Phil finally emerged after shaking hands with a few fans and posing with the championship a few times, I nearly tackled him in a hug. No words needed to be said, but I gave my congratulations nonetheless.

"You too." he smiled. I'd forgotten about my win entirely after watching the most recent match.

We were interrupted, however, as the call for the paramedics came over the loudspeaker. I raised my eyebrows. "He'll live." Phil said darkly. "I didn't do anything to him that he didn't richly deserve."

I put my hand on his arm. "Don't…" he looked at me questioningly. "It's done now. Let's leave it that way."

He nodded, and went to get changed. Soon enough we were on our way back to his house. Raw tomorrow would be in Belmont, Wisconsin, which was a fairly short drive that we could make in the morning.

Colt had departed in our absence, so we had the place to ourselves. We walked in, Phil with the title slung over one shoulder and his bag over the other.

"So, WWE Champion huh?" I mentioned, flopping down on the couch.

He looked at his title, apparently having a bit of a hard time believing it himself. "What, you didn't think I'd win?" he feigned offense.

"Nah, I knew you'd win. It's just interesting seeing you in person wearing gold."

He laughed. "Well it's about damn time anyway. I am the best wrestler in the world after all."

I shot him a look. "Is this where I get down on my knees and worship you?"

"Yeah, you can worship me. That's fine." he smirked.

I smacked him, and we continued in that way until I grew exhausted. Phil showed me to his guest room, and I fell asleep almost instantly, glad that at least today had gone as planned. Phil had the title, Del Rio had been put firmly in his place, and I now had two clean victories over the current champion. Things were looking good.

A/N: Chapter 20 is done! And it's still Thursday! YES! YES! YES! Ahem. Sorry. Got a bit overzealous there. But anyway, please keep up the reviews, you guys have no idea how much they mean to me.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Sorry doesn't really cover it here guys. I know I'm usually so much better about updating, but this week just really got away from me. I was just too tired/ busy/ undermotivated/ every other excuse in the book to write. I'll try to get back on track now though.

We left early the next morning, apparently too early for Colt to come see us off. I'd wanted to spend a bit more time with the man, maybe worming some embarrassing stories about Phil out of him in the process in order to use as blackmail later on, but apparently he wasn't really the "morning type".

A short ride and some lunch later, we were at the arena for Raw. We had some extra time, so Phil and I borrowed the ring for an exhibition, which ended an hour later in a draw, and only because other people were looking to get in the ring as well.

Finally the show started. The opening segment featured none other than John Cena, who came out and claimed that he was, by default, the Number One Contender for CM Punk's WWE Championship, and that at Survivor Series he would take back the title that was (according to him) rightfully his. "Innovative." I muttered sarcastically as I listened to him basically paraphrase the same statement that infinite Superstars had made before him.

Inevitably, Punk came out after a while, portable pipebomb in hand. "Normally I'd just let you run your mouth Johnny-boy," he said, "but frankly, I think half these people have fallen asleep out of boredom." The crowd came back to life, cheering at his statement. Cena may well be the face of the company, but Punk has a bigger percentage of the fans behind him.

Cena gave his patented 'oh really?' look, but gestured for Punk to continue.

"Listen John, your time in this company is almost over. If you think you've got one more title run in you, then by all means, let's fight. I don't have any problem with taking you, or anyone else on this roster, down a notch or two. But I promise you this: I'm not letting some guy with one foot in the retirement home take away my championship. I am the best wrestler in the world, and I plan on holding onto this title for a very long time. But, like I said, if you're delusional enough to think you can beat me without breaking a hip or something, then I'll face you at Survivor Series…One thing though. Since you just decided you're the contender, and demanded a match, I have a demand of my own. I will face you on the condition that we have a no disqualification match."

He dropped the microphone and left. John left soon after, during the commercial break. I laughed. The funny thing was, John was only a couple years older than Phil, and there was actually a lot of respect between them. Chances are that respect wouldn't play much of a role in their imminent rivalry however. It sure as hell didn't in the past.

My match was up next. I was tag teaming with AJ and Tamina against Kelly Kelly, Alicia Fox, and AJ's friend Kaitlyn.

Kelly and I started out, and I felt the opening for my finisher within a minute. I didn't take it, however, wanting a longer match for once. I gave her a boot to the face instead, and tagged in AJ.

Kelly crawled to the corner and managed to slap Kaitlyn's hand. "She's got this" Tamina whispered in response to the look I shot her, silently questioning if she could handle fighting her close friends without reverting to her formal "diva" fighting style.

It turns out Tamina was right. AJ put it away with a facebuster. She stood up after the three-count, a remorseless look in her eyes.

Backstage I watched the rest of the show in the relative privacy of the abandoned locker room. Jerry Lawler announced, after a quick replay, that Alberto Del Rio had been injured and would be out for at least a couple months, rehabbing a broken arm and a herniated disk in his lower spine. _He doesn't do anything half-way, I'll give him that._ I thought, referencing Phil's determination to get absolute revenge on the man.

A few relatively insignificant matches later, CM Punk absolutely destroyed Wade Barrett in the main event, and soon after the show was over.

The next two weeks flew by. We did a few house shows, where I mostly fought (and won) singles matches against Natalya. The next Raw passed without a women's match, and a few more house shows later, it was time for Raw again. I was coming off of a huge win over Beth at the house show the night before, and feeling confident, (perhaps overly so), so when the first match of the night (Zack Ryder vs. Hunico) was over, and Zack was done fist pumping, I grabbed a microphone and headed out to the ring. "Beth," I started, once I was between the ropes, "I've beaten you three times now—once in a tag team match, once in a normal match, and once in a no-disqualification match. If you were any kind of real champion, you'd give me a title shot."

I didn't get any further than that because Beth's music hit and she made her way to the ring, limping slightly, presumably from a rather vicious kick to the thigh I'd given her yesterday. "I'm sure you think so," Beth declared haughtily, "but the fact of the matter is, you're the newest person on the roster. The fact that you have a few fluke victories over me doesn't change the fact that you're the least likely person in our division to get a shot at my championship, or the fact that I'm just better than you."

"I am new," I admitted, "but no one in our division can claim that they have three clean victories over you, especially in the past two months that I've been here. I am better than them, and I am better than you. Nice limp, by the way." I smirked, knowing I was dangerously close to heel territory with that, but I was also a bit beyond caring. Besides, the fans seemed to enjoy it.

Beth opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by Triple H's music, followed by The Game himself. "You're both right…sort of," he said. "Since we don't have time for another brawl, and since I'm actually in charge of who gets championship matches and when, despite the fact that everyone seems to have forgotten that lately," he shot us a pointed look, but I could tell he was also referencing the exchange between Punk and Cena two weeks before, "I figured I'd come out here and settle this. Amber, your victories would normally make you the number one contender, but Beth's right, you're a rookie. So here's what's gonna happen. Next week on Raw, there will be a battle royal between Kelly Kelly, Eve, Natalya, Tamina, and one other person. The winner of the battle royal will go on to face Beth Phoenix for the championship at Survivor Series. Amber, you and Alicia Fox will compete for the last spot in that battle royal tonight. That ought to satisfy everyone." He walked out as Beth and I simultaneously smirked at each other, each thinking that we had the advantage.

"I'll see you at Survivor Series Beth."

She laughed. "Only from the audience. You'll probably beat Fox, I'll give you that much, but there's no way you get through Natalya."

I scoffed. "Please. I've beaten her more times than I've beaten you. She doesn't have a chance…and neither do you."

"We'll see," Beth replied, the evil look in her eye suggesting that she was already forming a plan to make sure I didn't have a chance.

I mirrored her look, although my strategy didn't involve anything more than skill. She didn't need to know that though. "Yeah…we will." She just shook her head at me and exited the ring. I waited a few seconds then went to follow her, but Alicia Fox's music stopped me. I mentally gave Triple H my sarcastic thanks for the warning, and warmed up as best I could in the middle of the ring.

When Alicia climbed into the squared circle, she glared at me fiercely, ducking under the first punch, giving her a clothesline instead, her look transformed into one of fear.

After that, the match was fairly easy, especially since, for whatever reason, I was so far in her head. She tapped out to the Scales of Justice within a minute or two of the bell, securing my place in the battle royal. "One down, four to go," I muttered once I climbed off Alicia.

After my match, the main event for later in the evening was announced: CM Punk vs. Brock Lesnar. I cringed at the news. _I don't think I'd want my worst fucking enemy fighting him. _

The night wore on with many interesting things happening. Kofi Kingston and R-Truth, who had been opponents just a few weeks earlier at Hell in a Cell for Kofi's United States championship, formed a tag team once again and pulled off an impressive victory over Dolph Ziggler and Jack Swagger. They seemed much more unified than when they had teamed several months earlier, and I couldn't help but wonder if they could be the ones to finally dethrone Miz and Daniel Bryan. Then Wade Barrett pummeled the Great Khali in a single's match before getting a WMD from Khali's unlikely friend and former tag team partner The Big Show. Next Randy Orton had it out with Christian, giving the former champion his required rematch (that, according to the contract he had worked out with his weasel of an attorney David Otunga, had to be granted at the time and place of Christian's choosing, and without giving the champion any notice whatsoever. Randy did, however, get to choose the stipulation.) The match dragged on, but Orton eventually won by pinning Christian on the hood of a car in the middle of the parking lot.

Finally Phil's match was up. I held my breath throughout the entire fight, only releasing it in fury when Lesnar won by throwing a thumb to the eye when the referee wasn't looking. "Cheating bastard" I growled when Phil found me a few minutes later.

"That was fucking stupid," Phil agreed, his voice somewhat more quiet than usual.

"At least it wasn't a title match…" I mused, trying to lift his mood a bit.

He sighed. "It probably will be soon enough," he said, annoyance evident in his tone. "But I'll crush him like a goddamn bug on my windshield the next time we're in the ring together, title match or not."

I knew he would, and nothing really needed to be said to that effect, so we walked in silence back to the bus. We were just a couple house shows away from having a few days off, and I could tell that most of the roster was really looking forward to going home, Phil included.

Our drive to the next destination took all of the night and most of the next morning as well. We got to the arena just in time for the show. The main event, CM Punk vs Randy Orton in a champion vs. champion match, was precluded by my match against Natalya. Phil and I both pulled off rather close victories, then we were on the road again.

Another long night and another house show later, we were on our way to the airport. Phil made it just in time for his flight. I ended up sitting in the airport for a good six or seven hours while my flight was delayed over and over again by a tropical storm hovering around Florida's gulf coast. _Some people have all the goddamn luck_ I thought darkly to myself as I sat in the terminal, realizing that Phil, as well as nearly the entire roster, would probably be in bed by now.

The sun was beginning to creep up when I finally got on a plane. Needless to say, when I got into my apartment four hours later, the first thing I did was collapse on my bed and sink into the first sleep I'd gotten in three days.

I was woken up around three hours later by a text from Phil. Colt says hi :P—Punk

I growled. You just woke me up. I'm gonna fucking kill you the next time I see you –Amber

The fuck? It's 4pm. Why are you asleep? –Punk

I glared at the screen as if my phone was somehow responsible for the nature of the conversation. Flight got delayed. Wheels up at 7am. Between airport BS and traffic I didn't get in till 1 –Amber

Fuck. Shoulda come to Chicago ;) – Punk

I laughed, less annoyed now. Nope. No offense but I more than enough of you on the road :P – Amber

Haha. You're just saying that because you don't want to admit how much you miss me. – Punk

I scoffed. Surrrre I am. Whatever helps you sleep at night Punk. – Amber

You know I'm right ^^ - Punk I didn't bother replying to that, instead electing to roll over and go back to sleep.

In fact, I ended up spending most of my brief vacation in bed. When I woke up the next time, it was with an overwhelming need to empty my stomach. I then proceeded to spend the next three days praying to the porcelain god and cursing the cesspool-like nature of airplanes.

By the time Sunday rolled around, the bug had passed along with most of the nausea, but I slept through most of the day, exhausted by the nature of the illness, and extremely glad that my flight wasn't until the next morning.

When I touched down in LAX, I still didn't feel a hundred percent, but I was too focused on the upcoming battle royal to care. However, when I saw Phil the first thing he said to me was "you look like the walking dead."

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't you hear—the zombie look is in this season."

He laughed. "You know, most people spend vacations catching up on sleep, not avoiding it like the plague."

I glared, not at him, but at the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the past four days. "Oh I slept, a lot actually. I just happened to get most of that sleep on my bathroom floor in between puking sessions. Goddamn plane germs."

Phil grimaced sympathetically. "So how was your time off?" I asked, looking to change the subject.

He spent the ride to the arena relaying a hilarious, and very long, story involving Colt Cabana, a cardboard cutout of Brock Lesnar, a cucumber, and an airsoft gun. By the time we parted ways to get ready for the evening's match, I was laughing hysterically.

"So he did WHAT with the cucumber?" Tamina asked for what had to be the third time, tears rolling down her face at the hilarity of the story.

"You heard me" I smirked, picturing the events and joining in her mirth.

She shook her head. "I believe it, but jesus. That's insane."

"That's Phil." I answered, "especially when you pair him up with Cabana. The two of them are gonna take over the world one of these days."

She laughed. "So, about tonight…"

I shook my head. "Don't. We're both going for it. I get that. No hard feelings, either way."

"Agreed," she answered, "but here's the thing. There's no reason why we can't work together in the beginning right? One of us should win this."

I nodded. "If we can, we'll make ourselves the last two, then whatever happens happens."

She agreed, and we parted ways. I didn't see any particular sense in hanging around someone who would be my opponent in an hour or so, friends or not. I stumbled into AJ, who wished me good luck, and John Cena, who I chatted with for a while, not having had the chance to catch up with him in recent weeks. Finally though, I ended up just going to Phil's dressing room. It was out of the way, private, and I wouldn't have to make small talk with people who I didn't know well enough to want to talk to when I was on the verge of such a big match.

I knocked on his door. "You decent?" I asked through the metal barricade.

"Physically or mentally?" was his response.

I scoffed. "Physically. You'll never be mentally decent. I gave up on that a long time ago."

He opened the door. "Come on in." I sat down on a bench, tossing a roll of wrestling tape between my hands. He looked at me quizzically. "What's up?"

I shrugged. "Tamina and I are gonna be opponents tonight. I didn't really feel like sharing a locker room and some idle chat with her."

He nodded. "You ready to go?"

"As much as I'll ever be" I answered honestly.

With that he tossed me a Gatorade from out of his bag. "Drink this. You look like shit, you're probably still dehydrated."

I laughed. "Thanks… I think."

We hung out, for the most part in silence, until my match was on deck. "See ya later." I said, pushing confidence into my voice.

"Kill 'em." he replied, shooting me a smile that did more for my confidence than any psychological tricks I could play within my brain.

I was the last one into the ring, so when my music hit Kelly, Eve, Tamina, and Natalya were already inside, most of them glaring daggers at me. The bell rang, and the brawl began.

Natalya went after me first, looking for a quick elimination. I tried to turn her momentum around on her and fling her over the top rope, but her feet landed on the apron and she wasn't eliminated. I turned away from her and ran over to Kelly, who had yet to be engaged. A few punches and she was already beginning to look tired, but when I tried to shove her over she put up more of a fight than I would've anticipated… that is until Tamina came over and helped me hoist her over the rope.

"And then there were four." I muttered to her and she nodded, grinning.

Natalya was now fully back inside the ring, and Tamina ran over to her, while I pulled Eve into a corner so she couldn't interfere with Tamina's attempts to eliminate her adversary. Eve and I duked it out for a few moments, trading punches, but I knew she wouldn't last much longer. I had the strength advantage, and it was starting to show.

I pulled Eve back to the middle of the ring, performing my finisher on her, for the sole purpose of wearing her down. Then I dragged her back to the ropes, lifting her up above my head and flinging her off. Just before Eve the ground, I heard another body contact the outside mat on the other side of the ring. I turned around, fully expecting to see Tamina facing me, ready for our one-on-one fight, but instead I saw Natalya.

I didn't let myself think about how that was not at all how things were supposed to go, or how I'd failed in our plans. Instead, I went after Natalya with all of my strength. She proved to be a stronger opponent than she had been in our normal matches, finding some extra power deep inside of her with the motivation that the match provided. She drove me to the ropes quickly, and had me up against them when I felt myself being not only pushed by my opponent, but pulled down by another force. I threw an arm back and felt it connect with something hard, and heard a yelp. Then I kicked out at Natalya, who released me in shock. Pulling myself off the ropes and back into the ring, I turned around to see Beth Phoenix's retreating form. _Nice try you cheating bitch._ I thought, quite satisfied with the fact that I'd dodged her underhanded attempt to cost me the match.

Natalya came back quickly though, and we went at it in the center of the ring for what felt like an eternity, but finally I got the opening I needed, loaded her up on my shoulders, and flung her out of the ring in an AA-like move.

My music began to blare through the arena, and understanding along with it. _I'm the number one contender! _I thought with no small amount of shock. The crowd was cheering, but I didn't hear them all that clearly, I was so lost in my own thoughts. I gestured for a microphone, and was handed one.

"That was a nice try Beth, you almost cost me the match. Too bad I saw it coming. Besides, it just shows that you're too terrified to face me in a fair fight. See you on Sunday. I'll be the one holding the title above my head at the end of our match." I dropped the microphone and left.

A/N: So, Amber's the Number One Contender now, huh? I wonder how that's going to work out. This chapter didn't quite turn out how I meant for it to, but it's done now, and I owe you guys an update more than I need to stick to my plans. I like it, regardless. Next chapter will be the pay per view I think, if I don't get too far astray. Please review and let me know what you think! Also, a HUGE shoutout to Flufferz for what had to be the best review in history, and to everyone else who reviewed the last chapter. You guys are great.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Once a week updates seems to be the best I can do right now guys, sorry about that. AP exams and SATs are eating up all my time. Also, a lot of you commented on how you're excited for the romance aspect and wondering when it's gonna start up. We're…somewhat close, but not exactly bordering on it either. Bare with me… I promise I'll make it worth your while ;)

I waded through a crowd of people, some offering congratulations, others trying to get to their matches. I accepted their well wishes gratefully, but worked my way through the group as quickly as possible. Finally I got to my destination: the locker room. Tamina was inside, as I'd anticipated. She turned to look at me as I walked in. "I'm sorry," I started with an uncharacteristic apology. "What happened out there, it wasn't my intention. Well, winning was, but not like that."

She smiled at me, though I could tell she was frustrated. "I know," she replied. "I'm glad you won and not Natalya."

"So you're not mad?" I questioned, still somewhat concerned that I'd betrayed our agreement, however accidentally.

"Only at myself," she answered. "I don't mind losing, I just hate losing to someone I can outwrestle any damn day of the week."

I remembered all of my stupid losses, and nodded my understanding. "It blows."

"And fucking Natalya too." Tamina growled. "She's the one who put me out in the first place, right before my title match, no less."

I grimaced. A grudge like that—when someone fights dirty to get what they want, trying to injure—it never dies. A match at a pay-per-view might end the onscreen feud, but once the respect and trust are gone, there will always be a problem. "She won that battle. We're going to win the war" I assured her.

"Just…beat the hell out of Beth, alright? She doesn't deserve to be called a champion."

"Agreed," I grinned, the tone of the conversation changing as we moved from the past to the future.

I left soon after, once the dark match was over, to find Phil. He smiled at me. "Nice job out there."

I beamed right back, riding the wave of excitement my match had put me on. "I can't wait for Sunday. I just wish I could bring back the Women's Championship. Ah well. I'll take what I can get. The more important thing is that maybe once I win the title, if I win it, I can really start to change things around here..." I rambled.

Phil looked contemplative, but by the time I finished my mini-diatribe he had an eyebrow raised in my general direction. "You already have changed things." When I shot him a confused look, he continued. "Women are getting real matches, every week. People without any skill have been pulled out of the spotlight, while people like AJ and Tamina who were overlooked before are getting real air time."

I shrugged. "It's a start. The image still isn't what it should be though. I think I can only change that as a champion."

He nodded. "You'll beat Beth though," he said, as if simply stating a fact—there was no room for argument.

"I hope so. I've done it before, just never with such high stakes."

"Don't think about the stakes," he advised. "You've got the skill. That's what matters."

I nodded my agreement and we headed for the hotel. "Movie marathon?" Phil suggested when we were checked in. I agreed, and we watched horror films until we started to see the sun come up, crashed for a couple hours, then got up and went to the gym as planned.

After a while on the weights, we had an absolutely grueling match that I just barely lost. Once we got back to the hotel we parted ways. Phil wanted to spend the night catching up on his comic books. I felt like taking a long walk down the beach—we were in California after all.

It was a quiet night, and I spent a fair amount of it under the stars. When I finally went to bed, I felt rejuvenated in a way that no sleep could achieve. In that way, when I woke up a couple hours later, I felt far more rested than I had any right to. The ocean just does that to me.

We travelled for a while to Oakland for the night's house show. It was jokingly being referred to as the "night of returns." Cody Rhodes was returning, as well as Rey Mysterio, Sin Cara, and Layla, the latter of whom would be my opponent for the evening. Punk and Mysterio were tag teaming against Cody Rhodes and Mark Henry, and Sin Cara was taking on Drew McIntyre, a partial preview of Sunday's six on six tag team elimination match. Also in that vein, the two captains, Big Show and Wade Barrett would face off.

My match was up first. Layla looked just about ready to eat the soul of anyone who came into the ring with her. I didn't by any means like her, but I didn't blame her either. She came back from her career-threatening knee injury to capture the championship, only to have to vacate it a few weeks later due to a less serious but still fairly significant wrist injury that had taken her out of action up until tonight. And, just to add insult to injury (literally, in this case) her first match back was against the Number One Contender for the title she'd been forced to vacate. I'd be pissed too.

Once the bell rang, however, all bets were off. My sympathies for the woman didn't stop me from taking her down as quickly and ruthlessly as possible, and pinning her in the center of the ring. Business is business, and like I said, I never really liked Layla anyway. She was kind of the antithesis of everything I stood for.

Sin Cara won his match, but Big Show lost his, so things were definitely looking interesting for the upcoming match which was the defining feature of the pay-per-view. Meanwhile, Mark Henry pinned Rey Mysterio, leaving him and Punk with the loss. It was less than ideal, but it wasn't the worst outcome either.

The night was relatively slow-paced, but the morning rolled around quickly, and we were soon on our way to Sacramento for the last house show before Sunday. The main matches that night were more Survivor Series tag team opponents facing each other. Kofi Kingston v. Dolph Ziggler, Santino Marella v. Jack Swagger, Justin Gabriel v. Hunico, and R-Truth v. The Miz were all on the card, as well as my match with Natalya, and CM Punk vs. Cody Rhodes in the main event.

Punk and I won cleanly. In terms of the other matches, the faces split the wins with the heels once again. There was actually a fairly large group of Superstars who weren't involved in the match, but were betting on the action. If I was a gambler I probably would have bet on Big Show's team, but I learned early on never to gamble unless there was no possible way to lose.

We got on the road as soon as possible after the show, eager to get to San Francisco so we could enjoy our two days off in the city where the pay-per-view would take place. Once we got there, our days off flew by. When we left for the arena Sunday afternoon, I was still entirely shocked that the time had passed so quickly. "It always does that," Phil commented when he caught me staring at the clock in awe for what had to be at least the third time.

"I guess," I said incredulously, strapping on my knee pads and brace. I was getting more nervous by the moment, but with that came also a feeling of confidence. The confidence wasn't quite enough to keep me from pacing, however.

"Sit," Phil finally instructed after watching me wear a hole in the floor for a while.

I sat, and we watched the first match of the night together, in which Zack Ryder narrowly defeated Rey Mysterio to retain his Intercontinental title. Once that match ended, however, I stood up again. My match was on deck, after a feud match between Randy Orton and Brock Lesnar. "Wanna tag along?" I asked playfully.

"Fuck, there's actually something I really gotta do" Phil looked at me apologetically. "I'll be watching though."

I pushed down the ridiculous and unreasonable feeling of hurt that sprung up in my chest at his words, and pulled out a smile. "No problem."

He put his taped up hands on my shoulders and shot me a smile that made my heart melt. "Raise some hell." he instructed.

"Of course!" I grinned back.

"I'll see you once you're the new champion." I nodded, still grinning, and left.

The match between Orton and Lesnar was a brutal one, but thankfully wasn't very long. The Viper put up a good fight, but in the end he was no match for Lesnar's ability to create carnage in any situation.

Once Orton was helped out of the ring, my music began to play. I ran to the ring, performing my entrance with more energy than usual. Then out came Beth, title in hand. She handed the belt to the referee, who showed it to me briefly, waiting for my nod before holding it high above his head, officially declaring this to be a title match. He handed it off to a stage hand, and the match began.

Beth came at me like a freight train—full of determination and clearly unwilling to let her title go. Her first clothesline missed however, and her misplaced momentum made her fly into one of mine. I dragged her back up, hoping to execute a move, but she ran me up against the ropes instead, her strength flinging me over the top rope and onto the outside floor.

The landing was less than pleasant, and it took me until the referee got to a count of three to get my bearings enough to realize I had to get back in the ring. Then the problem came of dragging my unwilling body off the floor, which I finally did, rolling under the bottom rope just as the eight count was melting into nine. Beth's satisfied smirk became a look utter disbelief. I returned the look when I realized she had believed that was the end of the match. "I'm not Kelly Kelly," I taunted, loud enough for the cameras to hear. "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

Beth snarled and charged again. I slipped under her and took her legs out. I covered her, purely for the psychological advantage of getting the first cover of the matchup. She kicked out at one.

I hauled her up again, shoving her back into the corner and unloaded for the four seconds the referee allowed me. Then I Irish-Whipped her into the opposite turnbuckle and repeated the process.

I did this in all four corners of the ring—much to the referee's annoyance, I might add—and once I was done, Beth had the faraway look in her eye that signified that I now held the advantage.

Deciding it was worth a shot, I tried for the Storm Front. Beth came up with an instinct-based counter, and I could hear Cole say something along the lines of "See King? I told you she didn't have enough experience to win this matchup." King groaned and told Cole to shut up at exactly the same time Booker did.

Beth's counter had driven me back, but didn't succeed in taking me off my feet, so I walked over to the commentators' side of the ring and briefly glared at Cole mouthing "you'll see" before continuing on with my business.

Beth, thinking I was still distracted, came towards me again, trying to put me in a headlock. I reversed it on her, and it was Beth's turn to go over the top rope and land in a heap.

I wasted no time rolling out of the ring and beginning to drag my opponent back in the ring. We were both inside by the time the referee reached the count of five, and I could sense that the match was nearing its end.

Beth was nearly out and I had no great desire to drag her back to standing and give her a chance to regain her bearings, and she wasn't in the right position for the Scales of Justice either, so I improvised. Going back to my martial arts background, I grabbed her arm, sat down on the canvas and wrenched her arm back as I crossed my legs over her shoulder in a modified judo maneuver.

To her credit, Beth actually tried to escape while I stretched her elbow to the breaking point. She didn't tap immediately, but she did tap.

I stood up in shock and disbelief. The fact that I'd won the championship, however, really didn't hit me until I heard Lilian Garcia announce "Here is your winner, and the new Diva's champion, Amber Storm!"

I cringed at the word diva, but accepted the championship gladly. However, just when I went to raise it above my head, my music cut off. Immediately after, I heard a familiar static, followed by Living Colour's "Cult of Personality."

Before I had time to come to terms with my confusion, out came CM Punk with a bag strapped over one shoulder, and a microphone in hand. The crowd seemed as confused (or proably moreso since I'd never been associated with CM Punk in the public eye) as I was, but they cheered the WWE Champion nonetheless.

Punk waited until he got to the ring to speak. "You know, when Triple H first told me I'd be mentoring Raw's newest 'Diva,'" he put the accursed word in air quotes, "I figured it was probably some form of punishment for my latest transgressions against the company. Then he mentioned that her name was Amber, and it all made sense." He turned towards me. "I've seen you grow since you started out in FCW a few years ago. From day one I knew you were gonna make it to this point, then I watched you survive every circle of hell that the world dragged you through to get here." He paused.

"Beth Phoenix wasn't worthy of the championship," he finally continued, as if struggling for words for the first time in his life. " Now the opposite is true. You aren't the 'Diva's champion.' That implies that you're among the very group that you're working to get rid of."

I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this, while also trying really hard not to start blushing or something. "I brought you something." He reached into his bag. "There is finally a champion worthy of this title again. Ladies and Gentleman," he turned back to the audience again, "I give you your new Women's champion!" He pulled the latest (unbroken) Women's title out of his bag and handed it to be, grabbing the Butterfly belt and giving it to a stage hand.

I held my new belt high above my head and the crowd just about lost their damn minds. When I finally regained myself, I slung the title over my shoulder and faced Punk. "Punk, I don't know what to say besides thank you."

He smirked for the benefit of the audience but nodded seriously. After a few more minutes of celebrating and posing for the crowds, we walked back out together, to my music this time. As soon as we were backstage I crushed Phil in a hug. "Congratulations" he laughed.

"How did you pull that off?" I asked.

He shrugged. "A couple of people owed me favors and I knew where the retired belts were kept. I pulled a string or two to make it official and that was that."

I shook my head in awe. "You're amazing, you know that?"

He smirked, the hint of a laugh escaping his lips. "Yeah, I know."

I mock-glared. "Modest, too."

"Of course!" he grinned.

The next match on the card was the World Heavyweight Championship match, where Christian would take on his latest contender, Mark Henry. A few minutes of Raw and Smackdown promos were replayed, giving Punk and I plenty of time to get to a viewing room, not that the outcome of the match was really questionable. Even Christian couldn't pull one of his wily moves on the World Strongest Man. It just wasn't going to happen. In that vein, no one was surprised when the title changed hands. The only shock was how long the match went on. Eventually, however, Captain Charisma fell to the World's Strongest Slam.

"I gotta go," Phil whispered about halfway through the match.

I smiled at him, following him to the gorilla. "Win it." I said as he got ready to walk onto the stage.

"I will" he said almost cockily, making me laugh.

And win he did. The match, which should have been the main event in my estimation, was a brilliant one, where, towards the end, Punk kicked out after an AA, and Cena used his strength to escape the Anaconda Vice. But ultimately a GTS proved too much to kick out of.

I cheered my ass off. I'm not ashamed to admit that. When Phil emerged he just winked and said "told you so."

I smirked. The competitors for the Survivor Series match were already lining up backstage, so we got the fuck out of dodge. The backstage area wasn't that big, and twelve Superstars would have enough trouble fitting back there without the two of us in the way. However, just as we were leaving, John Cena caught up to us and followed us to the hallway.

"Just wanted to say- you were the better man tonight Punk. Good job out there." The two men shook hands, and I was left in awe of their sportsmanship.

"You too John." Phil answered, showing that there wasn't any bad blood between the former opponents. "I was pretty sure you were gonna take it a couple times."

Cena nodded but didn't respond. Instead he turned to me. "Congratulations. That was well deserved. I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do as champion."

I smiled at him. "Thanks John."

Soon after we said our goodbyes, and headed back to the viewing room. When we walked in, Lilian Garcia was just beginning to announce the teams. "Introducing first the team of Kofi Kingston, Santino Marella, Sin Cara, Justin Gabriel, R-Truth, and their captain the Big Show!" The crowd popped for the "face" team. "And their opponents: the team of Dolph Ziggler, Jack Swagger, Hunico, The Miz, Drew McIntyre, and their captain Wade Barrett!" A few of the heels got cheered, the captain in particular, but, as was expected, they mainly got heat.

By the time the first team was done entering, we had been joined in the viewing room by Tamina, AJ, and Zack Ryder. "Alright, whose team wins this?" I asked.

AJ and Zack oth said "Big Show" at the same time Tamina and Punk said "Barrett."

"Interesting," I mused.

AJ turned to me. "Well, break the tie. Who do you think wins?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. It's gonna come down to chance. Big Show's size might be the deciding factor though."

We settled in to watch the match after that, because the heel entrances were finally over and the bell was rung.

Drew McIntyre was the first to be eliminated, quickly followed by Santino, leaving the teams even at five and five. R-Truth was next, and Justin Gabriel followed, giving the heels the five-three advantage momentarily. Then Big Show was tagged in, making quick work of Hunico and The Miz, evening the odds once again.

He tagged out to Kofi Kingston, and he and Dolph Ziggler had a long, intense battle. Finally though, Kofi got the better of Dolph, but it was a close call. Jack Swagger turned things around by getting an ankle lock submission on Sin Cara, and then there were two. Big Show dominated over Swagger, then he and Kofi teamed up against Wade Barrett. It was Kofi who eventually pulled out the victory, leaving him and his captain as the last men standing after a devastating Trouble in Paradise.

AJ and Zack cheered. Phil and I smirked. Tamina clapped a couple times, but looked a bit sour as well. She had told me a few days ago that she'd put money on the heel team after Barrett pulled off that somewhat questionable victory over Big Show. It wasn't much, maybe twenty dollars, but still. That's why I don't bet.

Zack, however, was elated. He actually made a fair sum, and was nearly dancing around the viewing room. "Who's up for celebratory pizza and beer…or Pepsi? I'm buying!" he offered, and we all grinned in response.

It ended up being a really fun night. We all had something to celebrate, whether it was a championship victory or just good company, no one could be in a bad mood by the end of the night. Thankfully no one got too drunk, but AJ ended up a bit tipsy and accidentally revealed her blossoming feelings for Zack, who was a complete gentleman about it, but judging by his reaction there were good things for the two of them on the horizon. And those of us who weren't drinking had plenty of fun anyway. By the time I went to sleep that night, championship belt on the desk next to my hotel bed, I couldn't have been happier.

A/N: Yeah, I realized as I wrote that last paragraph that it sounded a bit like an ending, but trust me, it isn't. Far from it. Things are getting interesting, but there's still a long ways to go with this story. I'd say if I had to guess that this is probably the halfway point, give or take, at least in terms of plot events. Anyway, please review and let me know what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Alright, my AP exam's officially over, so now I can write again. Finally there's time for other things than studying.  
>-<p>

When I woke up, I didn't believe that the past night had happened, until I rolled over and saw the title right where I left it when I fell asleep. _Women's champion…_ my sleep-befuddled brain mused, tumbling the words around in my head until they began to make sense.

With that finally settled, I looked at the clock. It was just past noon. I spent a few more minutes wondering how the fuck that happened, then dragged my ass out of the bed and started getting ready for the gym.

A quick workout later and I bolted back to my room, stopping just long enough to exchange the dirty gear in my bag for clean stuff before running back out again, title slung firmly over my shoulder. I met Phil downstairs, and he grinned at me. "Excited for your first Raw as the champ?"

I smirked. "It's gonna be interesting, I promise you that much." I didn't actually have a plan, but I figured I'd cut a promo or something to usher in the new era that was represented by the new (old) championship.

We drove to the arena in a contented silence. I was working on plans for my promo, but really not getting anywhere. Something needed to be said…but what?

When we got there, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I walked straight into AJ. "Sorry!" I exclaimed. "Apparently I shouldn't try to walk and think at the same time. I'll leave that to people higher on the evolutionary scale from now on."

AJ laughed, but it was halfhearted. "No, I'm glad I found you. This is gonna sound really bad but…what happened last night?" When she asked that, I realized exactly how awful she looked. _Damn, I guess she was farther gone than I thought._

I smiled at her in what I hoped was a comforting way. "I got you back to your room, don't worry. I wouldn't have let you do anything too crazy."

"Did I…" she shifted her weight, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Did I say anything about Zack?" she whispered her crush's name, looking up and down the hallway for anyone beginning to approach. There was no one.

I cringed. "You might've let something slip, but it seemed to be well received. I wouldn't worry if I were you."

She beamed. "Really? I gotta go take care of something then. Thanks by the way!"

AJ ran off, suddenly on the verge of floating away, despite what I was sure was a horrific hangover. I couldn't help but laugh. _Good for them. _

I got ready, still pondering what I was going to say to the fans until about five minutes before the show when I finally gave up, figuring the words would come to me on the spot… hopefully.

It turns out I had been wasting my energy. Triple H came up to me, CM Punk in tow, about a minute before the intro was set to play. "I need you guys to comment on what the dirt sheets have been saying since last night about you two being a couple. You're starting the show."

Having dropped his bombshell, he ran off, which would have pissed me off immensely if he hadn't been so obviously looking for something or someone in a way that suggested no small amount of desperation. I raised an eyebrow at Punk, who just shrugged. "We'll just clear it up. No big deal."

I smirked, amazed at his nonchalance. "Alright then. You wanna go out first?"

"Nah, you're the new champion. You start."

I glared at him, not particularly wanting to enter first, but agreed. A few seconds later I gestured to the sound technicians to start my music, and began to enter the ring as Justin Roberts announced me as the new women's champion.

Once in the ring I grabbed a microphone. "A new era has dawned on this company," I began, spitting out the first words that came to mind. "An era of change, of justice, and a new order. I came out here to say a few different things, but the first is this: last night was a night of change, but it was only the beginning. We have a long ways to go yet before WWE reaches where it ought to have been for years. Second of all, I'm grateful to have this opportunity to be a part of it. I want to thank all of you, because without a WWE Universe, there would be no WWE, and I want to thank my mentor CM Punk for surprising me last night with the replacement title. I had plans to remove the Diva's championship once I won it because of it's degrading nature, but I had no idea it would happen last night. In that vein, apparently what happened last night has started some rumors about what's actually going on between Punk and I… Let me make this abundantly clear—"

Familiar static followed by Living Colour cut me off. _I was wondering how long he was planning on leaving me out here to dry, _ my mind muttered, _Jesus, I wasn't planning on going off on a diatribe, but I guess Punk had better things to do than get his ass out here any sooner. _

"Sorry to interrupt, I just figured I should get my two cents in here too." Punk smirked, and suddenly all annoyance I felt towards him a minute ago was erased. "People really need to learn not to believe everything they read. Amber and I are friends, nothing more."

I nodded. "There isn't anything there. Punk is one of my best friends, and I appreciate his help in mentoring me more than I can say, but anything beyond that that you read or hear is a complete lie."

Punk opened his mouth to add something, but he didn't get the chance to speak. Triple H's music hit, and was followed by the appearance of The Game at the top of the stage. "Since you two seem to be such good buddies now…or whatever you are… you two are gonna team up against the two competitors you're scheduled to face at TLC in four weeks."

Punk and I grinned at each other. I'd never gotten to work a match with him like that. It seemed interesting. Then Triple H continued. "Punk, your opponent in the mixed tag match and at Tables, Ladders, and Chairs will be Brock Lesnar." I fought back a cringe, seeing the look of confidence in Punk's eyes and knowing I couldn't betray that. "Amber, allow me to introduce your opponent and new number one contender."

Triple H made a quick exit as the music hit. I recognized the song immediately, but didn't actually believe my ears until I actually saw Lita walking down the ramp. "Holy shit." I muttered, amazed and thrilled at the same time. She'd be a tough opponent at TLC, but I barely even cared about that. She was one of the best female competitors of all time. I respected the hell out of her, and being in the ring with her would be an honor.

She smiled at me when she climbed inside the ring, Punk disappearing in my moment of shock and making a similarly unnoticeable exit. I smiled back, and when she extended her hand to me I shook it gladly. "Welcome back" I said, just outside of the microphone's range.

"I've been looking for a good opportunity to come back for a while now," Lita told the audience, who were screaming so loud she practically had to yell into the microphone in order to be heard. "Seeing what Amber was doing around here gave me a bit of a push, and when the Women's championship came out of retirement last night, I knew it was time for me to do the same. I jumped the first plane out here, and…the rest is history." She turned away from the audience slightly, and began addressing me directly. "Amber, I love what you've been doing around here. Things are beginning to go back to where they were. I want you to know that whether I'm competing against you or not, I'm behind your cause one hundred percent."

I couldn't believe my ears. "It'll be an honor to work with you, inside the ring and out." I managed, internally smacking myself for the corniness as I made a quick exit to give Lita a few minutes with the fans.

When I found Phil, he looked about as shocked as I felt, maybe more. "I take it you didn't know, then?"

He shook his head. "I had no idea. I honestly thought she was done for good."

I did too when watching on tv, but as I'd learned within a few weeks in the business, a lot more happens backstage than the cameras have time to keep up with. My working theory had been that she'd talked about coming back after an extended absence. _So much for that. _"Well, I'm glad she's back," I murmured, contemplating. "This can only mean good things for the division."

He nodded. "I wonder how Adam's taking it though…" It was a little-known fact that he and Edge had become fairly close friends in the last couple years of Edge's career. (I would never be able to see him as Adam, I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Not to mention I hadn't ever met the legend, so beyond even the limits of my mental capacity, it just seemed wildly inappropriate to think of him as such.)

With little to no knowledge of the actual man himself, I had no way to respond to that, so I remained silent . We sat like that until our match was called. Punk insisted that I enter before him once again—something about chivalry and 'ladies first', to which I responded that I was no lady, but there was little room for argument at that point since my music had already begun. Once he finished his entrance there was a long pause, followed by Brock Lesnar's music.

"Ass." Punk muttered under his breath, away from the camera's view.

I smirked in Brock's general direction, just on principle, and waited for him to get in the ring. Finally he did, and Lita's music came out. When she entered, she shot Brock a look of distaste almost as bad as mine, and, seemingly unwillingly, joined him in his corner.

Punk and Brock started off the match, and continued on for quite a while, Brock absolutely refusing to tag out, and Punk not getting the opportunity to. Punk was standing his ground well, but was getting driven back slowly. I riled up the audience as best I could, and they responded beautifully, giving Punk the last bit of energy needed to jump to me for a tag after giving Brock a hellacious kick to the head.

This forced Brock to roll over to Lita, giving her a tag that practically sent her off the apron. She lunged at Lesnar but said nothing. He smirked obnoxiously at her in response and gestured for her to get in the ring, which she did, continuing to shoot death glares at her supposed partner.

I was the one who initiated the first lockup of our segment of the match, but she won the first exchange, powering me over her shoulder and onto the mat. _Shit, I forgot I'm not the only one here who did judo before wrestling._ I leapt to my feet, formulating a new strategy as I went.

Lita grabbed my arm, which I responded to by swinging around her into a sleeper hold. She broke that almost instantly, dropping me to the floor again. I genuinely began to feel somewhat threatened at this point, sweeping her legs out from behind to give me a second to think.

When we were both on our feet again, I threw an elbow, putting myself in a position for a DDT, which connected. Rolling her over, I dove in for the cover. She kicked out at one.

She didn't get up immediately, so I began to climb the ropes, looking for a Tsunami Splash. She got over to the corner in time though, and ended up throwing a Superplex that I was fairly sure would've killed me if I'd taken the landing any less than perfectly. I barely managed the kick out at two and a half.

Frustrated, I staggered to a standing position and braced myself to deliver a kick to the skull that was incredibly similar to my partner's signature move. She went down hard, and I dropped an elbow before dragging her to her feet and giving her a Storm Front beyond any that I'd delivered in my months in WWE. That was enough for the three-count, although it was close.

When we were both standing again, Lita and I shook hands, while Punk and Brock joined us in the ring, Punk to raise my hand, Brock to glare. That resulted in a stare-off between the male competitors that was threatening to spill over into something more. "Guys, not here." I suggested, practically tasting the tension between the two men in the ring.

I went to grab Punk's arm and lead him out of the ring when Lesnar shouted "Really Bitch? Think you can tell me what to do?" before grabbing me and, before I knew what was actually going on, executing an F-5 that made the entire world go white when I hit the mat.

When my vision cleared a few seconds later however, it was not Punk standing over Lesnar's bleeding form as I'd expected. It was Lita, who Punk told me had Lita-saulted Brock from behind when Punk went in for a punch. Punk just picked up the pieces after that.

I stood up under my own power, despite the difficulty involved. There was no way I was getting helped out of the ring. It would satisfy Lesnar too much. Lesnar was still on the ground when I finally managed a standing position, and I gave him a swift kick in the ribs, and growled at him to "remember what happened the last time a Superstar got involved in my business," referencing a still-injured Kane.

I made it backstage before sitting down in the nearest available chair. "Are you alright?" Phil asked, he and Lita standing over me.

"It just sucked. I'm fine." I muttered. I was in pain, but more pissed off than anything else. "Thanks" I said to Lita, who smiled back.

"That asshole deserved worse than that. Hey, you should probably see the trainer just to be sure, but want to hang out tomorrow? I've got some ideas for this movement of yours."

I tried to suppress my glee, which was easier than it might've been otherwise when I wasn't halfway cringing in pain. "Sure. Send me a text tomorrow" I rattled of my number, she wished me good luck with the trainers, and walked off to go catch up with other Superstars.

"Alright, let's go." Phil instructed, leaving no room for argument.

I glared at him but acquiesced. About half an hour later, the trainers declared me good to go, just a few bruised ribs and some general soreness. "Better safe than sorry," Phil reminded me as I glared at him once again for dragging my sore ass down there.

"Uhuh." I gathered my belongings and stumbled onto the tour bus, where I promptly fell into a mini-coma that lasted until we pulled into the parking lot of the next hotel, which was somewhere around midmorning.

Despite my body's extreme unwillingness, I dragged myself down to the hotel gym for a couple hours, forcing myself to work through the soreness until I felt almost human again. By the time I showered it was around two. I got a text from Lita soon after and headed out almost immediately after that.

We ended up going to a nearby café for a late lunch, somehow managing to avoid any crazed fans recognizing us. We mainly just chatted. I told Lita, despite my embarrassment, how much of a fan I was, and she amazingly said the same thing to me. "I didn't want the contender's spot," she confessed, "they just thought it would make a good feud."

"It'll be a match worthy of the title" I agreed. "Besides, I don't mind facing you. The fans seemed to love it."

She nodded. "We're better off working together though. You, Tamina, and AJ have a good thing going. No one can fuck with the three of you."

"The four of us," I corrected, "unless you'd rather do your own thing." I backtracked at the end, realizing how far I might've just stuck my foot in my mouth.

She shook her head. "I came back because I liked the change that was going on. Like I said, I want to be a part of it. I didn't want to just insert myself into your stable though."

I scoffed. "It's not 'my' stable. I'm more of a rookie than either of them, and we're all newer than you. We're all equals. And I'm honored to have you on board."

"It's not experience. It's leadership, and determination, and ability. You have all three. They follow you, or at least that's how it seems."

It was interesting to hear how things looked from an on-screen perspective, especially from a veteran. I didn't necessarily see things that way, but I understood why people did. "Well, it'll be hard to stop the four of us."

Lita smirked. "It's time to start cleaning house. A lot of these girls need to go back to their modeling careers. The rest need fine-tuning and a personality makeover. The latter we can handle at Raw. The former is gonna require a little help from Corporate. I can handle that."

I grinned at the vision forming in my head, of a WWE without failed models in the ring, where ALL of the female wrestlers were respectable and capable, and where the division got the recognition it would deserve then. "Hell yes."

We chatted for a while longer, and finally I asked the question that Phil had brought up the night before. "How's Edge handling this? I don't know him, but I was a huge fan, and Phil was wondering."

Lita shrugged. "There was plenty of time where he was on the road and I wasn't. It's nothing new to either of us. I think he misses it though. He covers it by spending a lot of time in the woods and all that, but I know he'd rather be here. It's the atmosphere more than anything. You just don't get that kind of energy anywhere else."

I nodded, not really knowing what to say. If my career was ever forcibly ended like that, I'd be a wreck. From what I'd heard, and it was only bits and pieces at best, he seemed to be handling it far better than I'd ever be able to.

We moved on to other topics, parting ways a while afterwards. I was thrilled. I hadn't thought, when I won the championship two nights previously, that things could take any more of an upward turn, yet they had. I couldn't wait to see where things went from there.

A/N: First and foremost, an apology doesn't really cut it for the wait I put you guys through. School and real life basically just kicked my ass for a while there and I had absolutely no writing time whatsoever. But I'm back now. And considering I don't have any major exams for another month or so, I shouldn't be doing that to you guys again in the near future.

Also, I know you guys are dying for romance, you keep bringing it up in reviews. It's coming. Not as fast as you'd like, but I have everything planned out, and it is in fact coming.

Thank you all for the lovely reviews of the last couple chapters, and please keep telling me what you think. Reading your thoughts is easily the best part of my day.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Writing off pure emotion tonight guys, so I have no idea how this is gonna turn out. Sometimes it ends up being my best writing, other times its utter crap. Let's see. Anyway, thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. As promised, I am in fact back. At least for now.

The next few days passed in a flurry. We did a few house shows, travelled a fair amount of the time, and by the time we were arriving at the Raw arena, it was difficult to keep track of the days anymore.

That night was significant, mainly because of the announcement that was posted on the WWE website halfway through the show, which King and Cole brought to the attention of everyone watching moments after it became available online: Kelly Kelly and Alicia Fox had both been fired.

About five minutes after the announcement I got a call from Vince McMahon. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he opened, not even bothering with pleasantries, "and you gave me the opportunity to do that. But you better not fuck up now. I just took a huge risk on you in terms of the Universe's opinion of the shows. Don't let me down."

I sputtered for a second before answering "I won't." He hung up without another word. I found myself thinking back to our last phone call, and how I'd thought about his tendency to veer away from in-depth conversation. _Some things clearly never change._

Lita found me during Punk's match with Antonio Cesaro. I shot her a questioning look, and she nodded in response. "I didn't know you pulled that much weight with the higher-ups" I admitted.

She smirked. "I have enough dirt on this company that I could have them eating out of my hands if I was willing to resort to blackmail. They know that, so I don't have to. This was just a matter of convincing the right people that this was the right decision. Frankly they seemed to agree far more quickly than I was expecting."

I grinned. "I guess the response to what I've been doing has been good then, if the higher-ups are willing to make massive changes like this."

"This is only the beginning." she responded. "A little birdie told me they're gonna call up Kaitlyn as a regular… and she's ready to come on board as well."

I thought about that for a minute. That would almost balance the scales. Eve, the Bella Twins, Layla, Beth, and Natalya were all on the 'opposing' side still, but with Kaitlyn, our numbers would make five. Five to six, when we had the skill advantage, was manageable. Of course, even numbers would be better. "We need one more," I muttered.

"To even the odds?" I nodded. "Don't worry. I know a thing or two that's on the horizon that should help with that."

I turned my head skeptically at her, but said nothing. I was the last person with any right to say anything about someone playing their cards close to the chest. "Give it a month or so. Until then let's just focus on giving the fans the best women's match they've seen in years at TLC."

I nodded, accepting that for the time being. Punk won his match a moment later, and soon we were on the road again.

A couple weeks and quite a few matches against the remaining 'divas' later, it was the Raw before TLC. I was granting Beth Phoenix her rematch so that the issue could be resolved before the pay per view.

I was warming up behind the curtain when Lita approached me, along with Kaitlyn, AJ, and Tamina. "Win it." Lita instructed pointedly. "They—" she gestured towards the arena, "don't want to see me fight Phoenix on Sunday. They want to see us."

I nodded, and the other women wished me luck. I swallowed a lump in my throat. _I have to win,_ I told myself for the umpteenth time. And really, there was no other choice. Lita was right. The fans didn't want to see her face Beth. They wanted to see what she and I could do when thrown in a match together, not another 'diva'- crushing match. That was getting old.

I made my entrance, possibly more nervous than I had been when I was trying to win the title. Beth preceded me since she was the challenger, so she was already in the ring when I got inside. The fans chanted my name at a nearly deafening level as the bell rang. They wanted me to win, understanding the significance as much as I did.

Beth and I traded moves for a while. It was a relatively long match in terms of a televised event. We went on for maybe twenty minutes. I lost count as I focused in on my opponent and defeating her by pretty much any means necessary short of cheating.

Finally, when we were both panting in the middle of the ring, I managed to Storm Front her for the victory. The crowd let loose, and their energy coursed through my veins, giving me the adrenaline to celebrate my victory rather than just stumble backstage as my body was telling me to do.

With the victory, my match with Lita was made official. Technically it already had been official, but couldn't be declared as such with the title match before the pay-per-view making it possible that Beth would enter TLC as champion instead of me.

The next night I was slated for an appearance on Smackdown to fight Layla in a non-title match, in which I gained a quick victory, then I spent the rest of the week making appearances. Wednesday I had my first-ever Make a Wish appearance, meeting a young girl with cancer that would likely be terminal. Her name was Sara, she was ten, and her story about broke my heart. She'd been fighting leukemia for half of her life, and when she was finally granted a wish, she chose to meet me. I couldn't understand why, but I was honored. She said she saw me as a role model. I was sure she could find a better role model than me, but the fact that that young girl who was already more of a fighter than I would ever be, who had gone through more in her life than I could imagine, admired me blew my mind. I gave her my autograph, and my phone number, telling her to call me if she ever wanted to talk. It seemed like the least I could do. When I left her house that night, I knew she would never leave my thoughts.

Thursday I appeared at a Be a Star rally at a local elementary school along with Mark Henry, Sheamus, CM Punk, and Stephanie McMahon. Again I found myself astonished, not only with the stories that the other Superstars told, but with the stories I heard from the children who I spoke to that day. I didn't share my story while we were addressing the kids, it didn't seem appropriate for the age group, but I did speak as to what the kids could do if they were being bullied, and I met many individual kids after the speeches were concluded.

Friday was spent travelling, and I finally had a day to decompress, and sort out everything that I'd heard and experienced in the past two days. My mind was fully blown, and I began to realize that as I rose in the company, such experiences would only grow more and more frequent. If I ever realized my ultimate goal—to fight in intergender matches on a regular basis, and maybe challenge for a previously men's-only title— this would become a regular part of my life. And I realized I wanted that. Connecting with the younger fans had been incredibly surreal, but amazing, and the joy on their faces, especially Sara's, made it more than worth the time I'd spend pouring over their stories in my head.

Saturday I had a brief signing, my first-ever. It went well, and I felt less overwhelmed than I had with the other appearances, mainly because the fans were generally older, teenagers or adults, and the individual contact was limited to around thirty seconds. I was still amazed at how many people were willing to stand in line for my signature a mere few months after I started with the company.

Then Sunday came along. When we got to the arena, I actually didn't find myself getting nervous. My match with Lita didn't seem like a title match. In fact, it felt more like a sparring session than anything. I was somewhat concerned about dropping my title, of course, but on a base level I realized that if I had to lose, I'd rather it be to Lita than anyone else on the current roster, and that at the very least I could give her a run for her money. Besides, I'd beaten her the one time we'd fought each other. That seemed to be a good omen.

Punk, meanwhile, was staring at a wall, as if trying to look through it. "You can handle him." I assured the pensive man in front of me, though I had to admit, I was probably more concerned than he looked. It wasn't a matter of doubting his ability, it was just that I knew Brock was as dirty a fighter as they came, and a TLC match seemed to favor the former UFC champion.

"I know" he said, the fierce determination in his voice providing a sharp contrast to the look in his eyes. A part of me was honored that he was willing to show that side of him in front of me, the vulnerable side that no one else was allowed to see as a strict rule. The other part was just plain scared. I didn't want to see him get hurt, not as badly as Brock Lesnar was capable of hurting someone.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Just…. take care of yourself out there, alright?"

He nodded, then smirked, the pensive look fading from his face. "Please, I'm CM Punk. Nothing can hurt me. Especially not all-muscle, no-brain Lesnar. He can fight, but he can't wrestle, and he's not smart enough to figure that out and change his strategy."

I sighed. "He's still fucking dangerous though."

"Yeah. He is." Punk exhaled heavily. "But so am I."

His match was up soon after that—it was slated to start off the Pay Per View. I wished him luck, to which he responded with his classic "luck is for losers," and a smirk, before walking out to defend his title against the man who was arguably the biggest wrecking ball in professional wrestling.

The match was exactly what it looked like it was going to be on paper: a systematic demolition. I alternated between cringing, looking away, and starting to cheer whenever I thought Punk was finally going to get out of the blocks. The cheers were short lived. The match carried on for fifteen minutes or so, but I almost would've preferred it be shorter. The torture got more difficult to endure as the time dragged on, and each time my latest hope that Punk would be able to rally and pull it off was dashed, I began to wish a little bit more that it would just end before any serious damage was done.

It did end, eventually, with Brock Lesnar performing an F-5 on Punk then climbing the ladder and retrieving the greatest prize in WWE. The only redeeming quality of the match was that Brock seemed to have his sights set more on the title than on destruction, so Punk didn't seem to get seriously injured.

I met him backstage and walked with him back to the locker room where we were camping out for the Pay Per View. "Are you okay? Physically, I mean." I finally asked, once we were behind closed doors.

He nodded. "Bruised and pissed. That's the extent of it."

I let out a small sigh of relief. "You have a rematch clause. You'll get him then."

He grunted in agreement, then closed his eyes in what seemed to be a moment of self-deprecation. When he opened them, he looked like himself again. _It never ceases to amaze me how he can do that, just shove things aside in his mind as if they're irrelevant, and continue on like nothing happened. _"When's your match?" he asked, his tone lighter.

I looked up at the TV, watching Kofi Kingston and R-Truth challenge The Miz and Daniel Bryan for the Tag Team Championships for a moment. "I'll head out after this one."

Kofi and R-Truth captured the titles a moment or two after. "Alright, I'm on deck. I should go."

Phil managed to smile at me encouragingly, in spite of just having lost his title. "Keep that belt around your waist, and give those fans the match of their lives."

I nodded, smiling back. "See you after."

I waited around backstage as Zack Ryder's Intercontinental Championship was put on the line in a fatal four way match against Dolph Ziggler, Rey Mysterio, and Sin Cara. By some miracle and a (dare I say it) lucky turn of events, Ryder scraped by with a win, pulling off his third successful title defense in as many months. I congratulated him heartily when he came backstage before I had to run out to the ring, thrilled that he was finally getting the chance to showcase himself as the dominant champion I'd known for years he was capable of being.

Lita's music hit as soon as the ring was cleared. She and I both came in to amazing reactions from the fans, and it was clear they didn't really care who won, they just wanted to see the match.

She and I shook hands when the bell rang, eliciting another massive cheer from the audience, then we began to fight. This time I got control of the first exchange, though my strikes weren't enough to put her on the ground, just enough to make her stumble back. I grabbed her arm, Irish-Whipping her against the ropes. She kicked up, in case I followed her in, but I didn't.

Lita, recovering from the miss, sprung off the ropes and ran at me with a clothesline that just about sent my head rolling onto the floor outside the ring. I lept up, dodging under the second clothesline, and throwing a modified spear to put her down for the first time. Going in for the cover at that point would just be an insult, so I didn't bother, instead standing up and dragging her to her feet. She responded with a well-timed elbow to the face that made me stumble.

This time it was her turn to use an Irish Whip, sending me into a turnbuckle with more force than I expected. She came in, most likely to get me higher on the ropes to attempt a Superplex, but I was—at least somewhat—playing possum. I got off a kick to the face that knocked her back, then used a head lock to get her back on the ground.

Lita, the veteran she is, turned this around on me fairly quickly. She took my exposed arm and rolled it into a joint lock, forcing me to crawl to the ropes, which I did, barely, vowing not to try that move again.

I shook the feeling back into my arm as I stood, knowing it wasn't actually hurt, just sore. I would've tapped out if it had gone that farther. She had turned away from me for a moment to signal the fans that her finisher was coming. I took full advantage, charging at her and performing a running bulldog, before going in for what was actually the first cover of the match. She kicked out at one and a half. It was barely worth the effort of hooking her leg, and we both knew it.

My frustration gave her an opening however. Before I had any full idea of what was going on, I was being Lita-canrana'ed face first into the mat. I kicked out at two on instinct rather than will.

I stumbled to my feet, knowing I had to bring the match to the end and quickly, otherwise she would. That knowledge gave me a second wind, and I unleashed a flurry of kicks and punches that left her dazed enough to give me an opening for the Storm Front. It connected, and I was sure it was over… until she kicked out of the cover at two and a half.

Amazed, I dragged her into the corner, dropping a few elbows on her so she would stay down long enough for me to climb the ropes. She didn't really look like she was going anywhere. She had kicked out, but she was nowhere near getting up and had enough of a dazed look in her eyes that I was confident that if I didn't waste enough time, I could end it with this move.

I climbed to the top rope, positioning for a Tsunami Splash. I jumped into the air, and the second I did I knew in my attempt to rush, I hadn't pushed up hard enough. I had about a millisecond to think _Oh shit _while I turned in the air, trying to land on my feet rather than my neck, which is what I was in position for. I managed to land on my feet, but when I did I felt a sickening crack in my right knee, the one I'd gotten repaired a few years ago. I screamed and went down, but dragged myself back over to Lita, doing the only thing I could think of in the agony-filled moment: I put her in the Anaconda Vise.

She tapped. Instinct made me release the hold—my mind hadn't caught up to the events yet. It did, however, catch up seconds later when I decided to ignore the pain and stand up, and fell down again. It was Lita who initially helped me up, me keeping all of my weight on my left leg. The referee handed me my championship, and I held it over my head with the arm that wasn't around Lita's shoulders, tears of pain filling my eyes, but not falling.

"Can you walk out like this?" Lita whispered.

I tried, and ended up practically collapsing on her. I shook my head. She waved the referee over, and he got on my other side, and we slowly made our way out of the ring with the majority of my weight on the two of them. The fans chanted my name, but my embarrassment kept me from acknowledging them with more than a weak smile and a nod.

I didn't have any choice in the matter—I was headed for a hospital. The trainers told me as much the second I made it backstage. Punk waved the referee aside and got on my other side, and he and Lita helped me to his car. Finally, when we were inside, he asked "How bad is it?"

I shook my head, trying not to cry. "Something popped. I don't know."

"Okay," he said calmly, driving to the nearest hospital. I was amazed at the serenity of his voice, and how much it managed to help. It wasn't, however, enough to keep me from starting to go into shock. By the time we got to the Emergency Department, I was shaking, and even more embarrassed than before.

It was an hour or so before the doctors were able to see me, and I still found myself feeling grateful that it was a slow night. An hour is nothing compared to the eight or nine I'd waited on previous occasions. Of course, it was still 2AM before the MRI results came in.

"Your MCL is gone," the doctor declared somewhat grimly, "and your ACL is partially torn."

I cursed a blue streak in my mind, though I'd already known. "How long?"

He understood the question without further explanation. I'd already told him I was a professional wrestler. "You should have surgery. If you do, it's six months minimum."

"And if I don't?" I asked.

He shook his head. "At least a few weeks of rest and physical therapy, but let me advise against taking what seems like the easier route here. Without surgery your knee is likely going to be unstable for the rest of your life, and you may never get back to your previous level of competition."

I took a deep breath. I had a big decision to make.

A/N: Yes, I'm evil. I know I'm evil. I wasn't planning on leaving it there, it just made more sense than going on another several thousand words, which is what I would've had to do otherwise if I wanted a clean ending.

So what is Amber going to decide? What's going to happen with her championship? And what's next for her?

Please review! Your reviews make me want to write faster, not to mention, they legitimately make my day.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Chapter 25 guys!This is probably where I should apologize profusely for taking so long to update, but I've been doing a lot of that lately, so instead I'm just gonna go ahead with the chapter. Thank you as usual for all the reviews!

"You don't have to decide now," the doctor offered gently.

I sighed. "Yeah I do. I've gone the surgery route before. This is where it got me. I'm not gonna do it again. Besides, I'm just not at a point in my career where I can just walk away for six months and pick up where I left off. Hell, I really can't leave for a month, but I really don't have a choice on that one."

"I'd urge you to reconsider," the doctor stated firmly, "but I can tell I'd be wasting my breath. Just know that you're taking a huge risk with this."

I nodded. "I know."

The doctor proceeded to explain the process of getting me back into the ring. No weight bearing for at least a week, then I could start physical therapy if the swelling had gone down enough, then at least three weeks of that before seeing if I could be cleared to wrestle. If everything went spectacularly well, I'd be back in the ring in a month, but six weeks was more likely. _Better than six months,_ I reminded myself as my stomach dropped at the thought of so much time off.

They fitted me for crutches, gave me one of those absurd looking skeleton braces, and finally sent me on my way, after I refused pain medications for the umpteenth time.

I hobbled out to find Phil in the waiting room. He stood up when he saw me coming. "Well?" he asked, as we started the slow walk to the car.

"My MCL's gone, and my ACL is most of the way there too."

He groaned. "How long?"

"Four to six weeks, if all goes well."

"You opted out of surgery?"

I nodded. "I can't be gone for six months. You know that."

"I get it," he responded quietly, "but are you sure this is the right call? I don't mean for your career, I mean for you."

I shook my head. "I'm not sure of anything right now, except that I AM my career. I don't have a backup plan, and if I disappear for half a year so soon after starting to have surgery that clearly doesn't work all that well anyway, I might not have a career to come back to. And… I'm scared Phil" I finally admitted. "I feel like I'm fucked either way."

He pulled me carefully into a hug, and my head fell onto his chest. Only then, with my face fully shielded from sight, did I left a few tears fall—the first I'd shed all evening. We stayed like that, his hand gently rubbing my back, until I pulled away. "It's just a month," he finally said. "Trust me, no one's going to forget about you."

"I know," I sighed. "But what if I'm never as strong as I was?"

"There are ways around that." he answered, "every wrestler who ever got past day one has something wrong with them. You just tape yourself up, and adapt your technique if you have to. The only real problem is the pain, and if you're willing to deal with it day in and day out. But I have a feeling you're not unfamiliar with that. How long has your knee been acting up anyway, since the surgery I mean?"

I thought about it. "A year, give or take. Why?"

"See? If you can handle that, you can handle this. You're gonna be fine. Hell, look at Stone Cold."

I smiled as I thought of one of my favorite Attitude Era wrestlers, and nodded, climbing into the car awkwardly. With that, we drove back to the hotel.

I finally made it back to my hotel room around the same time as the sky was beginning to lighten. I collapsed into sleep… only to be woken up about an hour later by my phone's persistent ringing. Suppressing the urge to throw it across the room and go back to sleep, I answered it. "Hello?"

"Amber, hello, Mr. McMahon here. How are you feeling?"

I bit back a response about how I'd be feeling a whole hell of a lot better if I hadn't been rudely awakened after the equivalent of a short nap, _who says I don't have any common sense, _and instead just responded. "Fine, thank you."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it. Anyway, I just received your medical report, and I'm sorry to have to give you more bad news, but you're going to have to vacate your title. I'm sorry, I know it's your first run and all that, but we can't go that long without an appearance from the champion, not with the title becoming relevant again. Good job, by the way."

I sighed. I had known that was coming, but Mr. McMahon's blunt manner of delivery did little to soften the blow. "I understand, but… can I make a request?" I asked, suddenly coming up with an idea.

"Well, I can't make any promises, but go ahead." he answered, sounding wary.

"Can the match for the title be between Lita and Beth?" I knew Lita would win, just as Vince would, but throwing Beth into the match showed that I wasn't looking for favoritism, just a good match. As much as I hated to admit it, the Glamazon did have skill in the ring. It was her demeanor and wardrobe that I had a problem with.

"I like that." Vince answered. "Consider it done. That match will take place tonight on Raw, after you vacate the title."

"Alright, thank you Sir."

"You're welcome Amber. Good luck on your recovery. Goodbye now." He hung up, and I attempted to go back to sleep.

It became blatantly obvious that my chances of sleeping were all but gone a few minutes later, so I got up, sent Punk a text filling him in on my conversation with the boss, and carefully took a shower.

Not wanting to haul my ass downstairs for the buffet breakfast, I ordered room service and watched some really bad tv until it was time to get on the bus. The trip to the next location was relatively short, but seemed torturous from the amount of pain I was in. Getting off the bumpy roads was a relief, but didn't do much good overall. Seeing the rest of the roster, however, did. I gave everyone the news, and the general reaction was just that I was incredibly lucky that it wasn't worse. I agreed with that, for the most part. I also found out that Randy Orton had defeated Sheamus and Mark Henry for the World Heavyweight Championship last night after I'd departed. I congratulated him, and went off to find the other women.

They were, unsurprisingly, in the locker room. I had already texted them the news, but I took the opportunity to let Lita know about her title match that night. "You better win," I told her, taking a jokingly threatening tone. "I don't want to see Phoenix parading around with my title."

"I will," she promised. "Listen, I really am sorry about what happened…"

I shook my head. "Don't. This is professional wrestling. Shit happens. If I wanted a calm career, I would've become a secretary or something. I just want you to go out there and beat the shit out of Beth tonight, and be ready to defend that title against me in a few weeks."

She grinned at me. "I look forward to it."

With that, I headed out to do my segment, the Women's Championship still around my waist for the time being. Once I hobbled into the ring—you have no idea how difficult that is until you have to do it with one leg, trust me—I was handed a microphone. The crowd's cheers actually drowned out my voice for a moment, filling me with emotion.

"Thank you guys, really. Well, as you saw last night, I messed up my knee pretty badly. I've gotta take some time off to recover, so… I've gotta vacate the championship." The crowd boo'ed. "Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction" I joked. "But it's alright. I'll have this baby back around my waist in a couple months. For now, let me introduce the woman who will be fighting against Beth Phoenix tonight to claim the championship." Lita's music hit, and when I started clapping, the crowd cheered. She got to the ring, and I shook her hand, before raising it in the air. "Good luck Lita."

I stayed on for commentary during their match, and cheered Lita to her ultimate victory. The fans remained firmly behind her as well, and I felt comfortable putting the so-called 'revolution' in her hands. _At least she's a deserving champion. If I'd had to watch Eve or somebody win that, I'd probably have thrown myself off a bridge. _

I hung out with the girls for the rest of Raw, watching Punk call out Brock Lesnar for a rematch, and cheering when the rematch was granted for the Royal Rumble pay per view, which was five weeks away. I found myself vowing to return by then, however difficult it might be.

After the show, Punk drove me to the airport. I hugged him tightly when I got to security. "See you in a few weeks" he said. "Keep me updated."

"I will," I agreed. "Drop a pipebomb for me or something."

He grinned. "Oh I will."

With that, my flight was called. "That's my cue. Bye Punk."

He waved, and I hobbled away, trying not to look back. I'd miss him. Fuck, I'd miss everyone, but I'd really miss him.

The flight was damn near torture, so I was absolutely thrilled to get home. The feeling, however, didn't last long. I lasted about a day before I was overcome with boredom. The pain was beginning to die down, but I couldn't really imagine four weeks of this.

Finally Monday rolled around again, and I was cleared to begin physical therapy. It was intensive, lasting around six hours a day, so that at least gave me something to do. And I was allowed to walk again, at least for short distances, so that helped too.

The second week passed faster than the first, and ended with an interesting surprise. It was Friday night and I was watching Smackdown when I got a phone call from Phil. "Open your door." he instructed, before hanging up. I walked slowly over to the door, and opened it, to find him standing outside. I squeeled, and jumped into his arms. He laughed. "It's good to see you too."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, breathless from the excitement of finally having actual human contact. Trust me, two weeks of not speaking to anyone in person besides doctors gets fairly dull fairly quickly.

He shrugged. "I have a few days off, and I figured you could use a visitor."

"What about Cabana?"

He smirked. "He'll be fine without me for once."

I stood aside, and tried to help him with his bags. He shrugged me off, dragging the bags into the guest room himself. "You want something to eat?" I offered, gesturing to the more than half-full box of pizza sitting on the coffee table in my living room.

He nodded, and dug into the remaining pizza. "So, what've you been up to?"

I shrugged. "Lots of physical therapy, lots of sleep, and watching as much wrestling as I can."

He laughed. "You really need to get a life."

I swatted at him. "Why bother? If I get a life, I'm just gonna have to leave it behind in two weeks anyway."

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Any word on when you're gonna be cleared?"

I shook my head. "I would've told you. All I know is that I've got at least two more weeks of PT before it's even an option. They say I'm doing well though, so that's a good sign."

"Good. Just don't push yourself too hard." he advised.

"Trust me, I've gotten that lecture about a thousand and one times from my physical therapist."

"Why am I not surprised," Phil responded sardonically.

We chatted for the rest of the night, and into the morning before I finally started falling asleep. The next day Phil accompanied me to physical therapy, which made it a lot more interesting. I don't know, dirty jokes can speed along any process I guess. Then we went to a movie, and ate dinner by the beach.

The next few days passed very similarly, although the evenings were all different. One night we drove around the city. The next we ended up just sitting on my porch because physical therapy had been too difficult to let me do anything besides sit, then spent the night laughing our asses off at trash TV and backwatching pay per views from the attitude era. The next morning, however, Phil had to take off for a Christmas Eve Raw. We exchanged gifts right before saying goodbye, and I found myself somewhat sad that he had to leave so soon. His visit, however, had lifted my spirits immensely, and I told him so.

"I can't wait till you're back," he said earnestly. "It just isn't the same without you."

I grinned at him. "I'll be there soon. Just gimme a few weeks."

We hugged tightly for a minute, tears starting to well up in my eyes. "Damnit." I muttered.

"What?" he asked, his hands on my shoulders.

"I'm not used to being close enough to someone to miss them," I admitted.

He exhaled heavily. "You're gonna be back before you know it. I promise."

"I know… it's just hard."

He nodded. "I know it is. But you're more than halfway there."

I looked at the clock. "Shit, you're gonna miss your flight. Thanks for coming… really."

"Any time." he smiled. "See you soon. Oh, and Merry Christmas."

I laughed. "Merry Christmas Punk"

With that, he was gone. I had very little time to think about it, since I was late to physical therapy, but when I got home again it hit me hard. "Two more weeks… I hope." I muttered to myself, a note of determination in my voice.

That week was actually easier. The pain was receding quickly, and I could feel the strength returning to my knee and leg. It wasn't the same, but I could feel the improvement. By the end of that week, they told me I could stop wearing the brace, except when I was exercising, and for the first time in three weeks, I had freedom of motion. That was the best (late) Christmas present I got, short of the one Phil gave me, which was a signed, first edition copy of _The Lord of the Rings_. It ended up being a really good thing that I did all my Christmas shopping early, because I had his gift, a signed Rancid album (we cracked up when we realized how similarly we thought) ready, despite the surprise nature of his visit.

The New Year arrived, and the week dragged on. I couldn't wait for my doctor's appointment, and by the time Friday finally rolled around, I was about ready to jump out of my skin between nervousness and excitement.

The news, however, ended up being good. The doctor, after carefully examining my MRI and the reports from my physical therapist, declared me ready to compete. The first thing I did was call Phil, whose excitement almost paralleled mine. The second thing I did was call Vince McMahon, who gave me cryptic instructions to fly out to Connecticut the next day, before hanging up abruptly. I was puzzled, but agreed readily.

The next day, I got on a plane headed for my previous home, with no idea what was in store for me. I walked into the very same office I'd entered five months previously in the hopes of signing a WWE contract, although this time I was more confused than nervous. Mr. McMahon shook my hand, and jumped straight to the point. "I wanted to talk to you about this in person. I have an idea."

A/N: Yeah, it's kinda short, but I didn't want to drag out the four weeks, and I didn't want to get into the next segment of the story either. I guess you could call this the end of Part 1. For all you shippers, we've got about one more chapter to go before the romance starts up. Also, Amber's career is about to change dramatically. Anyway, please review and let me know what you think!


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Yeah, clusterfuck doesn't even begin to describe my life lately. I won't bore you all with the details, but suffice it to say that I simply COULDN'T write. And now it's finals week. Although the good news is, after Friday I'm off of school, and since things seem to be calming down a bit all around, I should be back with quite a few more chapters in the near future. As always, thanks to everyone who's reviewed and stuck by me throughout this story. I appreciate it more than you know.

I looked at my boss expectantly, curious as to what this big idea was.

"I know you haven't been gone long, but I think the fans would enjoy it if you returned with a bang. You said you worked with the men in FCW right?" I nodded. "Then this should be familiar territory for you. I want you to enter to Royal Rumble. What do you think?"

I thought quickly. I definitely wanted to enter the Rumble, but I also wanted to make it more exciting even than that. Then it came to be. "I love it," I said, "but I want to hide my identity. That way none of the Superstars know they're fighting a woman, and 'the big reveal' is even more spectacular."

Vince took a moment, then responded . "Well, I'm not gonna stop you, but I don't really see what it achieves besides making people speculate."

"Think about it," I pressed, "If I win, and reveal myself afterwards, the crowd will go insane."

He looked at me kindly. "Amber, you're not going to win. The shock value is only in you entering in the first place. There are going to be 29 other Superstars in that ring. You don't have a chance. But if you want to do the mask thing, go ahead. Like I said, I'm not going to stop you."

I stood up, one eyebrow arched in annoyance and defiance. "Until both of my feet hit the floor I still have a chance Sir. Don't you dare tell me otherwise." With that I walked out of the office. It took me about ten minutes to realize that maybe it hadn't been a brilliant idea to say something like that to my boss, but I didn't much care. I was entering the Royal Rumble, and his words only made me more motivated to try to win.

The flight back to Tampa seemed incredibly long- not because it was, but because I was so eager t go back and start working out again.

My first stop when I got home was the gym for a killer workout. Physical therapy had kept me from getting too far out of shape, and I'd been sure to keep up with my upper body training, but it was time to truly get back in the game.

Overall it went well. I wore my new brace, which kept my knee from shifting out of place, and the pain was present but manageable and for the most part I was just glad to be working out again.

Most of the next few days passed the same way until finally Saturday rolled around and I was on a flight to Seattle for the Royal Rumble. The hardest part of the entire thing was not telling Phil about my brilliant plan: no one was allowed to know. It required me to stay in a different hotel, change into my masked garb before going to the arena, and to make sure no one saw me so nothing got leaked to the dirt sheets. It was complicated, and led to an incredibly boring night in the hotel room, but it would be worth it.

Around seven on Saturday night I got a call from Triple H. They had done the number drawing earlier on, and the number that I ended up "drawing" (or rather, the number that was left) was 23. Not bad.

I slept fitfully that night purely from excitement, and by the time I started getting ready I was practically jumping out of my skin.

Sneaking into the arena was difficult, but the mission was ultimately successful. I was clad in a black mask which hid my face and hair, baggy black pants that hid my brace and had silver chains hanging off them, and a black and red shirt that, combined with some really good equipment, hid my gender really well. On the back there was a red X, but nothing else. Some military-grade boots topped it off. I looked evil. It wasn't what I was going for, but it worked well enough.

CM Punk's rematch against Brock Lesnar was the first match on the card. The results were less than encouraging- it wasn't the squash match some people were expecting, but Punk couldn't pick up the victory either.

Randy Orton then defended against Sheamus for the second title retention of the night in a no disqualification match. Lita, making quick work of Natalya, was the third. In fact, the only title that actually did change hands was Kofi's United States championship, which went to Damien Sandow after an absolutely amazing match. The fans loved their new antihero, and I doubted Kofi would be too crushed since he still held half the tag team belts.

Then the Rumble began. Most of it for me was waiting and watching. It was only when number 22 (Heath Slater) began his entrance that I bothered to move from my changing room. Up till that point there hadn't been any great surprises. I would be the first, but I strongly doubted that I'd be the last.

I heard the crowd's countdown and it made my skin tingle with intensity. Then the buzzer sounded and I ran onto the stage and down the ramp to my alternate entrance music ("Headstrong" by Trapt). The fans reactions were exactly as anticipated: confused but excited. They cheered me, not knowing what else to do, and I fed off the energy like it was shooting through my veins.

I slid into the ring quickly, wasting no time. Heath Slater, Alex Riley, R-Truth, and Dolph Ziggler were inside, although by the time I'd gotten to my feet Slater had been thrown to the ground by Ziggler. Shocker.

The three men in the ring turned to me, their expressions showing exactly what I was hoping they would: concern at the uncertain. Perfect. I ran towards Alex Riley, Irish Whipping him into the ropes and clothes lining him over before he knew what hit him. Truth and Ziggler recoiled in surprise, turning to each other instead. The thing is, no one likes the unknown. They just don't. That being said, people have a tendency to avoid things that scare them, or even make them nervous, if they can. That was the biggest advantage of the element of surprise: they didn't know who I was from a hole in the wall, and I had come in with a dominant showing. That was leverage, at least over the mid-carders in the ring.

Ziggler got the better of Truth fairly quickly. Truth had been in the ring for quite a while at that point, and Ziggler was still fresh. It was no great surprise to see him finally fall. I turned to Ziggler, but the buzzer went off before we could make contact. Daniel Bryan was the next to arrive.

Bryan came straight at me, but I reversed his charge, sending the mat technician straight into Dolph Ziggler. The Rumble wasn't his element. He was better with submissions and a slow-pace. This match was neither.

With both of them on the ground, I turned back to Bryan, who had taken the least impact out of the two of them. I lifted him up, and forced him against the ropes while he visibly fought to regain his bearings. I got him over the ropes, but not off the apron, and he rolled back in when Ziggler provided a distraction by hitting me over the back of the head. I grunted and turned around, stacking Ziggler on my shoulders damn it feels good to actually deal with real fighters again and flipping him over the ropes, using my foot to kick him the rest of the way.

Bryan was too much of a veteran to reveal his emotions to me, so I had no idea what he was thinking as we circled each other, locked in the closest thing you can get to a staring contest when one person is wearing a full face mask. I shot a kick to his temple, which he blocked easily. He countered with a rib shot that hit home but didn't do as much damage as was intended because I went with the momentum, silding out of the way somewhat.

He's better than most. I thought, wondering why he was so rarely in the title scene, then remembering how intolerable his reign as champion had been. He's not better than Punk though. That thought made me think of something that seemed to work most of the time when fighting with my sparring partner. I feinted a punch to the skull, which Bryan ducked under, then dodged behind for a gut wrench suplex. It connected, and Bryan found himself the recipient of yet another unfortunate meeting with the mat.

I dropped an elbow on him, and the buzzer went off. Out came Rey Mysterio, who leapt into the ring and immediately grabbed Bryan's other arm. I looked at him in confusion, but his grin in response told me everything I needed to know. Alliances weren't unheard of in this type of match, and the masked luchador clearly saw something in me that made me seem like a valuable ally, at least for the time being.

I nodded, which was basically my only mode of communication, and began to lift Bryan with Mysterio's help. Long story short, a ridiculously difficult struggle later, we had thrown the submission specialist over the top rope just in time for the next competitor to enter.

"IT'S TIME TO PLAY THE GAME". Oh shit. Mysterio and I looked at each other. I extended my gloved hand. He grabbed it and tried to throw me over the top rope. I smirked. Predictable. My feet landed on the apron and I vaulted back over, using my momentum and the ropes to throw my feet up in a kick that left Mysterio hanging on the rope, dazed. I grabbed his legs, threw him over, and turned to face The Game.

He was still in the middle of his entrance. If I'd had to guess, I would have figured that he would have left his water bottle thing out of a match type like this, but apparently not. If only I could kick him off before he got in the ring. That would be convenient. That, of course, not being an option, I tried to make my stance as obnoxious as possible, and take a few breaths while I waited for Triple H to enter the ring.

Cat and Mouse I reminded myself. I just need to hold out till the next person comes in. Then we'll double team. Unless it's fucking Shawn Michaels or something, they won't want to deal with Triple H in the ring either.

I dodged around the blows, knowing that my advantage was gone with the man I was facing. He knew who I was, he knew everything I could do, in fact, he'd help set up the entire fucking thing. My only option was to try not to fall into one of his traps while I waited.

His first punch just about ended it. I'd fought a lot of men, many of them large, many of them with a fair amount of skill, but I'd never fought the Cerebral Assassin, or anyone else who could punch as hard as him either. I hit the mat harder than I'd ever hit it before, and the momentum of the impact actually threw me back to my feet. Unfortunately that didn't do me much good, because I proceeded to fall right back to my knees, because my head hadn't caught up with my body's motion.

Ironically, it was my knee injury that saved me there. The sharp pain the joint gave in protest to kneeling brought my mind back into the fight, and drove me to my feet with new resolve. I circled around The Game, then feinted with a sharp left hook, which he ducked under, putting me into position for a running leg scissor. It connected, but for all the good it did I might as well have not bothered. He was back to his feet before I was, and I began to get a sense of exactly how difficult this was going to be.

The next time he went in for a punch, I got the better of him, grabbing the fist and using his momentum against him, applying a wrist lock that made him roll over and fall to the mat. Submissions were of no use in the Rumble, but I'd take anything that got my opponent off his feet. I kept the lock on until he was all the way down, then dropped a knee straight on his face. A few follow-up blows later, I dragged him back to his feet and threw him against the ropes. Obviously an elimination wasn't going to be that easy, but it was worth a try.

He put me in a headlock, driving himself off the ropes and executing a running bulldog. I was dropped to the ground with ridiculous strength and speed. I laid there, groaning, until I was dragged up and thrown into a corner. Instinct and pure will saved me, as I threw my feet up against Triple H's chest, driving him away from me as I escaped from the vulnerable position.

With that, the buzzer finally went off, and for once in my life I was actually happy to see The Miz. Granted, it had nothing to do with him, just the fact that there was finally going to be another person thrown into the fray.

Miz and I got straight to work on Triple H. We were doing a whole hell of a lot better together than I had been a few moments ago, and by the time the next buzzer went off, I was fairly sure we had the Game right where we wanted him.

Then the glass shattered, and out came the Texas Rattlesnake. I had about enough time to wonder exactly how that was going to go before Austin ran into the ring and threw Triple H over the top rope. Miz and I looked at each other, nodded, and took advantage of the position that Stone Cold was in, each of us grabbing a leg and hoisting him over. He landed on the apron. I ran to the ropes, using them as a springboard and clotheslined him off.

I had about half a second to marvel at the fact that I'd just eliminated a hall of fame wrestler before Miz went for a gut wrench suplex from behind. I shot him an elbow to the face, drove him backwards against the ropes, and finished him off as well.

Figuring I had another minute or so, I sat down in the middle of the ring, wonder catching up with me somewhat. Stone Cold Steve fucking Austin became my mind's mantra until the buzzer sounded again and I lept to my feet, breathing almost normally again. Which was good, because the next person out was Ryback. Were they TRYING to stack the fucking cards against me or what?

Ryback glared at me with his mechanized eyes. "MENTAL MACHINE" he shouted, pounding on his skull.

Yeah, yeah. I dropped down, swinging my legs around in a sweep. He crashed down hard, his lack of experience with technique showing. He was the type of wrestler that relied more on mass than on accuracy, and that would be what I'd take advantage of.

When he was down, I gave him a hard rib shot, my combat boots digging far into his side. He gave another shout, but this was one of pain rather than his usual "I only have one brain cell and it's going off half cocked at the moment" shout.

I knew I couldn't lift him, or drag him very far, so I had to take a different strategy. He staggered to his feet, and I threw a few hand chops to drive him against the ropes. Then I flung myself into the air, giving my opponent a dropkick to the face that left him hanging backwards across the ropes. Bouncing to my feet, I finished the job with a clothesline. Despite his girth, he was incredibly easy to remove from the ring. He didn't know the first thing about battle royals, whereas I'd at least had some experience with them in FCW. Not to mention- the bigger they are the harder they fall.

I turned to face the stage just as the buzzer went off. I had about enough time to blink before I heard a sound that turned the blood in my veins to ice. An unmistakable gong began to sound, followed by the deathly tones that could only belong to The Undertaker.

Holy fuck. There was a big part of me that wanted to throw myself over the top rope in order to avoid facing The Deadman. The other side prevailed, by a small margin, because there was no way I was going to pass up the opportunity to face the legend, regardless of the result. That being said, any hope I had of winning had left me at the sounding of the first gong.

The Undertaker climbed into the ring with me, tipped his had in my direction, removed his coat, then we began. I had far too much respect for him to interrupt his ritual. He won the first exchange, and the second, driving me to the ground twice over with enough strength and technique to wonder if they would need to pry me off the mat with tweezers. I eventually peeled myself up, however, and realized that if I even wanted a chance to win, my only hope was to throw some offense.

That in mind, I went into a complicated series of moves that had absolutely nothing to do with wrestling and everything to do with my judo background. The seventh or eighth move finally got the Deadman to the ground. He sat straight up in his classic fashion and got to his feet almost immediately, but a glimmer of hope came back to me with the knowledge that I could get him to the ground. If I can get him to the ground, what's to say I can't get him over the top rope.

The time I took to complete that thought without completing any action cost me dearly. I found myself over the top rope, and laying on the two or three inch apron, hanging onto the bottom rope for dear life as one leg dangled dangerously over the side. I couldn't even tell you how I got there. I just know it was fast, painful, and that it left me dangling on the edge of going back to fighting women…permanently.

I growled, finding a way to roll back into the ring despite the Undertaker's best attempts to push me out. My heart was racing from the near elimination, and my body was telling me that I'd just about reached my limit for the day. I was tired, I'd just returned after a month off, and I'd taken falls on parts of my anatomy that I didn't realize I had. In short, I needed to end it, immediately, if I wanted a shot.

The Deadman and I circled each other, and as we did I formulated a plan. A big move would take up the last of my energy, and if it failed I'd essentially be flopping around like a half-dead fish in the middle of the ring, waiting for someone to come along and put me out of my misery. If it did work, however, it would be amazing.

I got the Undertaker down again, then climbed to the second rope on the outside, as if I was going for a Splash. He joined me on the ropes as I'd planned, climbing all the way to the top. Just as he did, I grabbed onto his tights and bounced on the ropes for an extra burst of momentum that allowed me to perform a superplex onto the outside. I kept my feet high in the air as we crashed to the ground, and the bell rang. I held my breath, looking over at Lilian Garcia, who nodded and smiled at me. I had insisted she be in on the whole thing during the planning process, on the off chance that I won.

At her signal, I put my feet on the ground for the first time, and dragged my bruised body off the ground and into the ring. I pulled my mask off, and Lilian announced "And the winner of this match who will go on to headline Wrestlemania, AMBER STORM!"

My real music hit, and the crowd went absolutely insane. They chanted my name in unison as I grinned at them from atop the turnbuckles, fists raised in the air in victory, disbelief, and a last surge of adrenaline. The Undertaker, meanwhile, had finally managed to get up after the ridiculous fall, and joined me in the ring. He offered his hand, and I shook it reverently. Then he raised my arm in the air, and somehow the crowd found a way to cheer even louder.

When finally the cameras shut off and the pay-per-view was over aside from the dark match, I was able to make my way out of the ring, unmasked, and see everyone in the locker room. Lita grabbed me first, then Tamina and AJ, and Cena, and Orton, and basically everyone else. The notable absentee was Phil, who I finally found at the back of the crowd, waiting with a smirk on his face. As soon as I escaped the group, I jumped into his arms. "I'm not sure if I should congratulate you or ask you why the fuck you didn't tell me, so I'll go with both" he said, laughing as he spun me around. "Jesus though, first woman to win the Royal Rumble. And you did it in the first year of your career. You weren't kidding when you said you were gonna raise hell were you?"

I laughed as he finally set me down. "Nope. I really wasn't. And I didn't tell you because I couldn't. It was a pretty short list of people who knew, and they were all directly involved in planning."

He grinned. "I get it. You're back, that's what's important. And you eliminated Austin and the fucking Undertaker. That's… incredible."

"I'm still shocked" I said honestly. "That was some ridiculous competition. Although Triple H was the hardest, since he knew who I was."

I didn't get through the sentence before being tapped on the shoulder. I turned around and saw, speak of the devil, The Game himself. "Congratulations" he smiled. "That was one hell of a fight."

"Thanks," I smiled, but then a somewhat darker thought came over me. "Do you think Vince is actually going to let me challenge for a world title?"

"Oh he will," Hunter promised. "I wouldn't have it any other way. You won, fair and square, against some of the hardest competition the Rumble has had in recent memory. If he tries to take your title match away from you people are gonna riot."

"Damn right they are" Phil growled. "And I'm gonna be at the head of the pack."

Triple H laughed. "Calm down Punk. It'll be fine."

Phil glared over at the COO, and didn't visibly calm all that much. I however did. At least until the next morning when I got the call from Vince, who declared that there was "no chance in hell" that I was getting a shot at the "male-only" world titles.

A/N: So Amber won the Royal Rumble. And so begins part 2. The romance is right around the corner. Literally. Right around the corner. So what is Vince going to do? And what's the fallout going to be? All will be revealed in the next chapter… In the meantime, please review!


	27. Chapter 27

"He said WHAT?" Phil shouted, fury evident in his eyes.

"You heard me" I growled, pacing around the room, halfway to punching a hole in the wall.

"I am going to…" he started, stopped then started again. "What the actual fuck does he think he's doing anyway? How can he do that?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. He's Vince McMahon, apparently he can do whatever the fuck he wants."

"No he can't." Phil replied, his tone suddenly even. "Not if his Chief Operating Officer refuses to uphold his decision. Or the board of directors, but given that they're a bunch of old geezers with one foot each in a grave somewhere, I'd say you're better off appealing to Triple H."

I nodded. "I'll be back."

"Want me to come with you?" he offered.

"That's alright, I'm gonna try diplomacy first" I laughed mirthlessly.

He scoffed. "Diplomacy is overrated."

"I agree, but I'm gonna at least try it before I start dropping pipe bombs. Besides, I don't think it'll help my cause to have someone else fighting my battles for me."

"Fair enough." he answered, nodding his understanding. "Good luck."

I left Phil's hotel room in search of Triple H. I found him in the lobby, and waited until his conversation with Kane came to an end. "Can I have a word?" I half-growled in spite of myself. _So much for diplomacy. _

"Sure." I followed him to a conference room, and we sat down. "What's going on?"

"Your father in law" I attempted to make the words sound civil, although the attempt might have been in vain. "refuses to give me my rightful shot at a world title. Apparently they're reserved only for men."

Hunter scoffed without humor. "I wondered if he'd try this bullshit. I love him, believe me, but he can be incredibly resistant to change sometimes. He tried to have the deck stacked against you from the moment you told him you were trying to win. He brought back the goddamn Undertaker for christ sake. But he couldn't affect the numbers, or your skill. There was nothing he could do- except this."

"So…?" I asked, enjoying the diatribe but wondering where it was going.

"You'll get your title shot. I promise you that much. But keep that between us for now. We're gonna make Vince believe that he has a choice in the matter first. But if the shit hits the fan… I book the matches, and I'll make sure you get your shot. Here's what I want you to do- tonight on Raw you aren't going to be booked for a match because Vince and I still have to, quote-unquote, 'figure out what to do with you.' So I want you to cut a promo. Get the WWE Universe riled up and behind your cause, and make them support you. Add that to the reasons why Vince should change his mind- make him realize that he will make more money if he gives you what is rightfully yours. By next week we'll have this sorted out and hopefully Vince will be behind us. If not, you and I are going to have to do some scheming."

I nodded. "I can do that."

"Good. Good luck tonight."

"Good luck with your father in law" I said incredulously.

He laughed, a strange sound coming from the COO when it wasn't meant to be sadistic and terror-inspiring. "I don't need luck. I'm married to his daughter."

I exited the room, a grin on my face. The situation wasn't over, but I was more confident that things would work out. I would just have to cut one hell of a promo., and hope that Vince came to his senses when he realized what the people want.

"Well, what'd he say?" Phil asked, shoving his ring gear into a bag as I watched, my own bag slung over my shoulders. I didn't have a match, but Phil and I were gonna spar before the show began, and just about anyone could be called on to work a dark match, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Nothing definite" I answered honestly, "and what he did say apparently has to be kept in confidence. Vince's decision isn't set in stone though, so that's good."

"And you aren't booked tonight?"

I shook my head. "Nope, but I'm slated to cut a promo."

He laughed almost evilly. "Heh. That'll be good."

"Yeah it will" I grinned.

With that we went to the arena. Our sparring session was the best we'd had yet, and I scraped by with a narrow win. "Damnit" Phil panted as he lay sprawled out in the middle of the ring. "When the fuck did you get this good?"

I laughed. "I get that a lot."

He rolled over, gave me a half-hearted smack to the side of my leg, and rolled back. "_Not _what I meant."

"I know" I grinned, giving him a hand up. "But it was worth it to see the look on your face."

He growled, but didn't say anything further as he hauled himself out of the ring to go change for the show. Meanwhile I wandered around, finally running into Lita.

We chatted for a while, talking mostly about work-related things from her title reign, to my victory, to all the backstage gossip that I'd missed in my month off. AJ and Zack were apparently a strong item, _called it_, and Brock Lesnar was running rampant through the locker room, taking out anyone who got in his way. No one knew how to control him, and the normally fearless backstage security people headed for the hills whenever they saw him coming. _Encouraging. Chaos is always awesome. _Those were the biggest pieces of news. Finally, though, we got to the question that I knew was inevitable. "So who are you challenging at Wrestlemania?"

I sighed. "I have no idea. At this point, Vince doesn't want me to even have a title shot, so…"

Lita's eyebrows contorted, knotting themselves together. "What. The. Fuck."

"That's about right, yeah. Apparently the world titles are only for men. Goddamn sexist pig."

She let out a sound that was somewhere between rage and disbelief and proceeded to turn a rather disturbing shade of red. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"I know." I answered. "I wouldn't worry about it though. I've got people in my corner. I'm supposed to cut a promo tonight, try to get the fans behind me, and use that as leverage against McMahon's male-supremacist crusade. If that doesn't work, I'll take it to the next step."

"I have an idea." Lita remarked. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Uh… okay?" I responded intelligently, completely confused as to what exactly just happened. _I'm sure I'll find out later. _

I was actually slated to end the show. Triple H had rearranged the card a bit so that I could get the final spot, which would hopefully draw some more attention. So I had nearly the entire time to sit around and wait. It gave me the chance to decide what I was going to say, and rehearse it. I normally didn't practice my promos, but this was easily the most important of my career, and arguably one of the more important shoots in recent memory. Stumbling over my words wouldn't do me much good.

Finally my time came, and I walked out into the ring to an amazing pop. "You're all probably wondering which champion I'm planning on challenging at Wrestlemania. Well, there's a bit of a problem with that. You see, Mr. McMahon, who for those of you who don't know is the Chairman of the Board of Directors…essentially he runs this entire company. And he doesn't want me to be able to challenge for a title. He said, and- forgive me for sounding like Michael Cole for a moment- I quote 'A world title can only be held by a man.'" I paused, listening to the crowd's reactions. They were booing at Vince's words, but I needed more energy, more intensity, simply put, _more. _

"Now, I didn't come this far to be told no. I didn't eliminate hall of famer Stone Cold Steve Austin and The freaking Undertaker among others to be denied. I didn't claw my way up from the bottom of this business, then make history, to be told that in spite of my accomplishments, I won't get what is rightfully mine because I don't have a set of balls. Quite frankly, neither do half the men in the locker room, and you see plenty of them running around with titles." The crowd cheered at that, and I could tell I was heading in the right direction. "I will not be denied. And I WILL main event Wrestlemania."

At that point I could tell I had the crowd, but something was missing. Just then Lita joined me in the ring. "I don't know about the rest of you people" she said, speaking to the entire audience, "but I'm with her on this." They cheered.

"And so am I" CM Punk joined the two of us. "Gender discrimination isn't justice. And I won't stand for anything less than Amber getting the match she deserves."

Slowly I saw people from the locker room begin to walk onto the stage and into the ring. "Agreed" said the rumbling voice of the Undertaker. "She deserves her chance."

John Cena came out next, followed by Randy Orton, AJ, Tamina, Kofi Kingston, R-Truth, Damien Sandow, Rey Mysterio, the silent and elusive Sin Cara, Zack Ryder, Alex Riley, Christian, Beth Phoenix (who shocked the hell out of me), as well as other Superstars.

It was the last two, however, who tipped the scales. None of the other Superstars had entered to music, but suddenly "Metalingus" by Alter Bridge began to play, and I found myself practically shaking from emotion. _EDGE is here? _

"Amber, I've been looking for a way to come back for a while, and someone suggested I become a manager. It seemed like a good idea, but until last night I wasn't sure of who I could work with. If you'll have me, I'd love to be your manager. And as for Vince McMahon, he's never been good in the whole decision-making area, but I don't think he can resist the power of all of us."

I grinned at the man who had begun my interest in wrestling, and shook his hand. "Thank you" I half-whispered, although the mic picked it up enough that my voice carried through the arena nonetheless. "I would be honored."

Then the glass broke for the second time in as many days. "Vince McMahon, you've always been a stubborn, idiotic son of a bitch, but I think even you're smart enough to realize that this company is gonna come out from under you if you try to stop this woman from getting her title shot. And if you don't, you're gonna get a stunner so bad that you're gonna end up in a coma, again, and then someone with sense is gonna take over and do what you wouldn't. And that's the bottom line because STONE COLD SAID SO!"

My eyes widened.I couldn't actually believe that all of these Superstars and Legends were in the ring supporting me. Suddenly though, Triple H's music hit, and the mood changed instantly. "I've just received a call from the Chairman of the Board himself" the COO stated in his formal tone, indicating to me that he was going to play it out. "he wanted me to convey to everyone in the ring and in the audience that his decision will be announced formally next week, and conveyed to Amber tonight, and to please get out of his ring."

I nodded at the other Superstars in the ring, but we didn't make our way out until the signal was given that the cameras were off. Our point had been made, and we damn well knew it.

I spent the next few minutes shaking hands with, and thanking, various people. Lita was first, for organizing the whole shindig, then all the random Superstars who had come to my aid, then Beth specifically for swallowing her pride, and ultimately The Undertaker, Stone Cold, and especially Edge, who I saved for last. "I've always admired you as a wrestler" I admitted. "And it was one of my dreams to meet you. This is an honor…." I stumbled, not sure what to call him.

He shot me his signature smirk. "Adam, or Edge, whatever you prefer."

I smiled. "It's an honor, Edge."

He shook his head. "I couldn't stand not being here. And I needed someone to manage who wasn't the same damn thing we see night in and night out. You got rid of the stupid diva's title, got my girlfriend back in the ring, and were the first woman to win the Royal Rumble, and in spite of an injury and in the first year of your career. You're about as far from mainstream as a person can get. And I want to be a part of that, even if it's only a small part."

I sputtered. "You're the goddamn Rated R Superstar. The fact that you see anything in me at all is… mindblowing."

He raised an eyebrow. "How could anyone not see something in you. Besides Vince, that is, because he's fucking stupid."

I laughed. "That he is. He's a bastard. Well, hopefully he'll get over himself."

Of course, that was the moment my phone decided to ring. I saw my boss's number on the caller ID, and excused myself promptly and with a promise to let my new manager know what the result of the conversation was.

"Amber," he said without preamble, as per usual. "I saw your little display tonight on Raw. It made it abundantly clear to me that I need to at least give you a chance. So here's what I'm going to do: you're going to have your title match, if you beat an opponent of my choosing next week on Raw. And I promise you, you're going to have to earn that opportunity."

"But I already did earn it" I protested, "I don't mind fighting, that's what I came here to do, but I earned my damn opportunity when I won the Royal Rumble."

"You're lucky that I'm even giving you a chance. My decision is final." With that he hung up on me, leaving me to process what I'd just heard. _Well, whoever it is, I'm just going to have to beat them, it's as simple as that. _

I emerged from the random room I had ducked into to complete my extremely brief phone call, and went in search of Phil, wanting to tell him the news. However, as I rounded a corner and he came into view, I saw something that took me entirely by surprise: he and Beth were locked in a kiss.

The moment I saw it my heart broke, and it became immediately clear why. I'd been throwing the idea of having feelings for Phil around in my mind for a while, but never accepted it until I saw him with Beth. The tears started before I could prevent them. _He has every right to do whatever he wants with whomever he wants _I tried to remind myself, although it didn't help to lessen the wave of emotions I was riding. _Why did I have to be so fucking stupid _I berated myself as I walked through the hallway, head down in a thin attempt to keep the world from seeing my tears. In that position, I didn't see Lita until I was practically on top of her.

"Amber? What's wrong?" She asked quietly.

I shook my head. "It's a long story. Could you just give me a ride back to the hotel please?" I wasn't ready to face Punk, not yet. If he was in a relationship with Beth I would have to support him as a friend, and I would at least need a little bit of time to process everything before I could do that. _I wonder if I'll ever be able to play that role without it tearing me apart….but no, it doesn't matter. Phil's been there for me since I started here, I have no right to get in his way. I didn't act. It's my own damn fault. _

"Sure," she said kindly. "let me just find Adam then we can go."

We waited a moment and Adam found us. "What happened?" he asked me. "The fuck did Vince do?"

I shook my head. "It wasn't Vince. He's letting me challenge at Wrestlemania as long as I beat whoever he wants me to face next week on Raw."

"That's good then, right?"

I nodded.

"So what happened?"

Lita smacked him on the arm, and he promptly shut up. She mouthed "Punk?" at me, and I nodded despite myself. She then mouthed "we'll talk." and I nodded, knowing it was inevitable.

The ride was incredibly quiet. "If someone did something…" Adam finally attempted, awkwardly, despite barely knowing me.

Lita glowered. "ADAM!"

I cringed in the back. "I'm just trying to help…" he muttered.

"Thanks" I responded quietly. "No one did anything. I'm just an idiot."

"No you aren't" Lita responded. "He is."

I shook my head. "How the fuck…?"

She laughed. "Honey, I've known since I got back. It's so obvious."

"Then how did this happen?"

She shook her head. "Vince isn't the only guy on the planet who can have a thick skull sometimes. Trust me, I know him. He can be dense."

"Should I even ask?" Edge interjected resignedly, earning him another slap from Lita. "Point well taken. I'll just…stare out the window now."

Soon we got to the hotel, where Lita sent Edge up to their hotel room, and followed me to mine. "So what exactly happened?" she asked. "I've got the gist of this clusterfuck, but I need the details here."

"I saw Punk and Beth kissing." I answered. "It looked like they're back together."

Lita banged her head against the wall a few times. "For fucks sakes. He's an idiot."

"No, I am. I didn't even realize I had feelings for him until tonight."

"Well he damn well should've gotten his head out of his ass. And BETH of all people? It was absolute shit the first time. Why would it work now?"

I didn't quite understand her disgust, but I hadn't been privy to the details of Phil's previous relationships like Lita had, so I filled in a few blanks and went with it. "He's allowed to do whatever he wants though… It's not like we're together…"

She shook her head. "No, but you SHOULD be…. This is just fucking ridiculous. The goddamn definition of insanity. He'll come to his senses in the end, he always does, but I doubt he'll do it in time."

"How do I not let on though?" I asked somewhat desperately. "I mean, obviously I've gotta just accept this and move on, but how do I look at him the same way as I did, as just a friend, when I know I want more now?"

She sighed. "You try to remember that being friends is better than nothing I guess. And you support him through his idiocy, even though you don't want to and shouldn't have to."

"Alright." I yawned suddenly. "I think I'm gonna go to bed" I lied, wanting some time alone. "Thanks Lita."

She put her hand on my shoulder. "You're gonna be fine. You're tougher than this shit."

"I know." I walked her to the door, and we said our goodbyes. Only then did I collapse on my bed, and let myself cry all the tears that I'd attempted to restrict before. I was full in the throes of my emotional moment when I got a text.

**Hey, where are you? - Punk **

I buried my face in my pillow for a moment, then forced myself to make the tone of my text message far different than my thoughts. **I went back to the hotel with Lita and Edge. - Amber **

**Oh, okay. Sorry I got delayed. What'd McMahon say?- Punk **

I bit back a sharp response, and ended up deciding that no response was best. _I'll talk to him tomorrow_ I promised myself, falling slowly into a restless sleep.

The next morning I got up with just enough time to throw my stuff together and get gone. I met Punk on the bus, and he threw the question I figured was coming at me before I'd gotten the chance to sit down. "Hey, why didn't you text me back last night?"

I exhaled heavily. "I fell asleep" I half-lied. "I went to find you last night but…" my better judgment lost out to my emotions at that moment, and in spite of myself I said "you were clearly busy."

Phil raised an eyebrow at my suddenly harsh tone. "What…?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Never mind. I shouldn't have said anything."

He tilted his head to the side. "No, none of that. You left without me at Raw, then you didn't text me back, and now this… What the fuck is going on?"

"I saw you last night with Beth alright? And yeah, I know I have no right to say or frankly even think a single thing about it, but I do. I'm sorry. I'll try to contain myself from now on." I managed, trying not to sound as bitter as I felt.

He shut his eyes and his head fell against the wall of the tour bus. "THAT's what this is? Oh for fuck's sake."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

He put his hands up in surrender. "No, no, no, please, let's not have yet another misunderstanding. At least let me explain alright?" I nodded. "Beth kissed me. It lasted all of three seconds before I got my wits back and pushed her away. Your timing absolutely sucks by the way. There is nothing there, she just thought there was. Why did it bother you so much though?"

His words took me by surprise, and it took me a few seconds to process through the meaning of them. "Uh…" I said, _fucking brilliant response there Amber. Try to sound less intelligent next time. _Then my mind caught up with my mouth and I tried again. "Don't you know?" I asked quietly.

His eyebrows elevated slightly. "Are you trying to say what I think you're trying to say?" his gentle yet pressing tone delved deep into my core, and I realized that I had to go for broke.

"IthinkI'mfallinginlovewithyou" I blurted out in a rapid string of unintelligible word vomit.

"Can you try that again?" he asked, grinning. "I honestly have no idea what you just said, unless you just called me a rabid dog in German, which wouldn't really make sense in the context of this conversation."

"You speak German?" _Stupid mouth. Stop doing that. _"I mean…" I corrected. "I erm…. I love our friendship, I can't even tell you how much I love our friendship but… I think we could be so much more."

He reached across the aisle, taking my hand in his. "I think you're right. But if we go there… You need to know that I don't do anything half-assed. I don't do casual. You know?"

I nodded. "Me either."

He gave a half-laugh born of the awkward yet beautiful nature of the conversation and said "so…"

I smirked. "So…" I repeated jokingly, but then my tone turned serious. "Are you sure Beth knows that there's nothing between you two? Because I'd rather you tie up loose ends first if they need to be tied up."

"She knows" he assured me. "I made it abundantly clear that…well, that I was interested in someone else."

I raised my eyebrows jokingly. "Oh are you now?"

He yanked on the hand he had in his, and between that and the momentum of the bus I ended up practically in his lap. I laid my head down on his shoulder and sighed happily. "Yeah, I am. She's tall, gorgeous, and the strongest woman I've ever met. How could she not capture my attention?"

I smirked to cover the blush that I was fairly sure was tinting my cheeks. "Yeah, yeah…."

His thumb snaked around my face and tilted it up to face his. "I'm serious." he said quietly. "You are."

The pressure of his hand on my face and my own willingness had brought my lips within centimeters of his. He closed the gap, kissing me in a way that I'd never been kissed before. My mind shut off, and there was just this sense of _right_-ness to the moment that's impossible to describe.

When I finally pulled away to get air, the first thing out of my mouth was "holy shit."

"Yeah, that's about right." he smirked.

"I'm just gonna sit here and take this all in for a minute" I murmured, my head landing back on his shoulder.

I woke up about eight hours later. "We're here" Phil smirked at me as I yawned and stared stupidly at the clock, trying to figure out how eight hours could've possibly gone by.

"The fuck?"

He laughed. "We're in Minneapolis."

"Again I say…the fuck?" I shook my head, wondering how much of what I remembered was real, and how much was a dream.

He laughed, taking my hand. _Well that clarifies a few things. _"Come on. We're at the arena. Time to go."

A/N: Alright, I'm gonna leave this here for now. I figured you guys deserved another chapter quickly sinc I waited so long to update last time. As always, thanks for the reviews, please keep them coming. I could actually use your opinions if you feel like giving them: how much of a role do you want Edge to have, and what kind of role specifically? I'm torn between what his role is supposed to be here. I was always planning on including him, but I've yet to figure out completely how he fits in. Please feel free to let me know what you think/ what you want to see from him. Also, Taker is not yet done in this story either I don't think, but he's still a fairly abstract concept in the story too. Opinions always welcome!


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: I genuinely loved all of your reviews this time around guys. Plenty of good ideas for what to do with Adam (for which I'm eternally grateful for, I'm glad we were all sort of thinking along the same lines) and lots of interesting commentary besides. Also, because I forgot to respond to the PM, to whoever asked: I'm not from Michigan, I'm from Boston. But it's interesting that they both ended like that…

The week passed slowly. We were absurdly busy, going from one house show to the next with pretty much any time in between spent in travel, but since I couldn't compete until after Monday night (they couldn't figure out who to have me fight and apparently just waiting to see if I would be able to handle coed matches until Raw made more sense to everyone… _ugh_) it seemed to drag out in a blur of rushed monotony.

Finally Monday Night Raw rolled around. I paced around Phil's locker room, restless with anticipation. "I can't wait to get back in the ring" I half-groaned. "I don't care if I have to fight the motherfucking Undertaker. I'll do it gladly."

Phil grabbed my arm on my next pass and yanked me into his lap. "Sit." he directed. "Pacing isn't going to make the time go any faster."

I grinned at the position I found myself in and pulled him in for a kiss. We hadn't had the chance to go on an actual date given our ridiculous schedule, but we were officially together. We hadn't figured out how to deal with the on-screen side of things yet, but off-screen we were open about our relationship. Everyone had really been great about it, some even going so far as to say that it was "about damn time."

Just as we were pulling away, Lita came bursting into the room. "Way to knock" I growled, but flashed a grin at her to show I was joking as I pulled myself off Punk's lap. (I've never been a big one for PDA. It gets old really fast.)

"Sorry, no time. Two things" her rushed tone made me stand up, wondering what the fuck was going on. "One, Tamina just quit the company-"

"She WHAT?" I yelled in spite of myself. "What the fuck?"

"I don't know" the redhead responded. "I guess she'd just had enough. I tried to talk to her but she wouldn't listen to me."

"Fuck" I muttered. "I'll call her. What's the other thing?"

"Adam wants to see you." I nodded, glad that the second piece of news wasn't a bombshell like the first.

I looked at Phil who nodded slightly at me. "See you in a few." With that I followed Lita out the door. 

"So how are things with you guys?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I slapped her lightly on the arm. "We're good. But what the fuck happened with Tamina I wonder?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. It's a fucking shame though. We were just starting to get shit balanced out and then she up and leaves."

That wasn't exactly the thing I was most worried about, but once the other woman mentioned it, I realized she had a point. We were once again outnumbered. "I guess I'll talk to her, try to convince her to come back…. I just wonder what could've happened."

With that we arrived at Lita's locker room, where I assumed Edge _I just can't think of him as Adam damnit. _would be.

"I'll let you two talk" she smiled at me and headed in the direction of catering.

I entered the room, not sure what to expect. I wasn't used to be managed. "Hey" he shot me the classic Edge-grin, and I suddenly felt a lot more at ease.

"Hey… you wanted to see me?"

"Just wanted to wish you luck tonight kid. I have a feeling Vince or Hunter or whoever the hell is setting your match is gonna try to screw you over." A part of me tried to get mad at the term 'kid.' but I just couldn't do it.

I sighed. "I figured. Any guess as to who it might be?"

He shook his head. "There's only one guarantee here- they're gonna give you whoever they think it'll be hardest for you to beat, in any sense. They might make you fight Phil in a last man standing match or something like that, somewhere where you'd be at a psychological disadvantage. Or they might just try to put you at an extreme physical disadvantage, making you fight Mark Henry or someone like that. I don't know. But whoever they pit you against, I'd bank on it being the hardest match of your career so far."

I hadn't even thought of the idea of pitting me against someone who I'd mentally have a hard time beating. _Fuck._ "Well, I'll do what I have to do I guess" I said, the resolve thinner in my voice than it would have been a few minutes previously. By the same token, I was glad Edge had mentioned the possibility so I could prepare at least a bit for any possible outcome.

He stood up, suddenly towering over me. I suddenly got the sense that he could be very intimidating if he ever wanted to be. "You guess?" he asked, his tone challenging without being overly harsh. _He's trying to push me. _

It worked. "I will." I revised my previous statement, and pushed a bit more determination into my tone.

"That's my girl" he grinned, putting a hand on my shoulder. "These are the moments that define you as a wrestler: when you have to leave your feelings at the door. Fear, love, hate… you've gotta leave them at the curtain. Whoever you face, you have to figure it's going to be someone you'd never choose to fight. Put that out of your mind. Do what you do best, and only think about that. Alright?"

I nodded at him, pushing the strange emotions rolling within me that I could tell were coming from the unhealed wounds of my broken childhood aside in favor of giving a half-hearted laugh. "What?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing I was just… thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing important." _Just my crazy mind looking for a father figure. Just goes to show how fucked up I am really. _

"Alright. Good luck out there Amber. You'll be great." I smiled at him and left, going in search of Lita or Phil or just about anyone. I needed not to think- about my match, about my past, about anything. When my cursory search came up empty, I decided to call Tamina instead.

"What do you want?" she answered, her tone harsh and unforgiving.

"Hey are you okay?" I asked gently. "Lita said you left…"

"Oh I'm fucking fantastic. I just got sick of coming in second to everyone else on the fucking roster. I thought when you came along things were gonna be different. But no. The only difference was, instead of Beth and Kelly being at the top of the division, now it's you and 'Lita'" the scorn in her voice when she spat out the redhead's name made me visibly cringe. "Big fucking difference that was. Well, congratulations, you've fulfilled your obligation by calling me and pretending to care. Have a nice fucking life."

"Tamina wait-" I started, but she hung up on me before I could get any further. "FUCK." I yelled to no one in particular. _Had I really fucked things up that badly? Were the people who I had been trying to help just getting screwed because of my attempt to get to the top? And how the FUCK did I not notice that she felt this way before things got this bad. What kind of friend am I? _

I forced back an overwhelming urge to punch the nearest wall, reminding myself that it would only make my coming match more difficult. The logic was good, the problem was getting myself to care about the negative aspects of what would only end up being a self-sabotaging move. Logic won out, barely, and I was left sitting in the middle of a hallway, emotions about to boil over, within twenty minutes of my match. _Well this is just fucking ideal isn't it? _

A stage tech found me way too soon and told me that I was up next. I took a few deep breaths, which was the closest I was going to come to getting my emotions in check, and followed her to the stage. I stood around for a few minutes before the match before mine (Wade Barrett defeating Justin Gabriel) cleared off and I was signaled to begin my entrance.

As I stepped through the curtain I forced myself to remember Edge's words, and leave the personal bullshit behind me, giving my entrance all the energy I could. The warm welcome I received from the fans helped with that, and by the time I got into the ring, I was focused on the fight.

Triple H's music hit, and the Game appeared with a sheet of paper in his hand. "By order of the WWE Board of Directors and Vince McMahon himself, Amber will get the chance to challenge for a world title at Wrestlemania if and only if she defeats the man they have chosen for her to face tonight in a no-disqualification match. On that note-"

Triple H got cut off by the sound of heart-stopping pyro hitting, along with music that could belong to no one but the Devil's Favorite Demon. _FUCK. _I thought for the umpteenth time that night. Kane was apparently back from injury…an injury that I had dealt him no less, and I had to go through him to get my match at Wrestlemania. And last time I saw the Big Red Machine, he hadn't exactly been thrilled with me. _Well this should be fucking interesting. _

After Kane completed his entrance he turned to me and made the same throat-slashing motion that Undertaker was famous for. On the outside I stared at him passively while gesturing him to "bring it" with a hand motion. Inside I was fucking terrified, but there was no way in hell I was going to let Vince McMahon, the WWE Universe, and most importantly Kane figure that out.

The masked monster chuckled darkly at me as the bell rang. I responded the only way I knew how: with a battle cry that in a past life had chilled the blood of men Kane's size and larger. Granted, they were no fighters, but Kane's second of hesitation was still something, and it gave me the opening I needed to get the upper hand in the first exchange.

An interestingly placed headlock (Kane did have about six inches on me after all) turned into a rollover and I got the big man down for a few seconds, which was all I needed to execute a few well placed kicks to his right leg. I wasn't looking to do much damage, just to hopefully leave a few bruises and make it easier to get him back down.

He stood up and gave me a gut punch that sent me flying back into the turnbuckle with a sharp impact. He ran towards me, but I countered by throwing my feet up. I aimed for his face, but got his chest instead. _Six of one, half a dozen. _He stumbled back and I went in for a followup attack, but his counter reached me first- a face shot that sent me to my knees.

By the time I regained my bearings (which honestly could have taken anywhere from a few seconds to several days) Kane was no longer in the ring, and it took me a second to locate him- he was kneeling on the outside fishing under the ring, most likely for something to do horrible things to me with.

Using his preoccupation with finding the ideal weapon to my advantage, I rolled out of the ring on the other side and grabbed the first thing that I could find, which happened to be a fire extinguisher. _Cena's gonna be proud_. I grinned evilly at the thought and turned to Kane, who had realized what I was doing just as I pulled the weapon out from under the ring. I dodged his ladder shot _LADDER? THE FUCK DID HE GET A LADDER? _ and gave him a burst of whatever was in the large red container for his trouble. He staggered backwards and I chased him, giving him a sharp push to the chest, which was enough to send him into the steel steps.

He tumbled over the steps and onto the floor, but the impact clearly wasn't all that much. The damage done seemed minimal. I took the few seconds I had and crawled back into the ring- it seemed like my best chance at the time. It was only when Kane joined me inside, still with that damned ladder in hand mind you, that I realized I probably should have tried for some more attacks while he was down. He knocked the fire extinguisher from my hands with a contemptuous swat, and sent me buckling to the floor with a ladder shot from…no pun intended… hell.

I had about enough time to blink and try to remember how to breathe before I had a massive hand around my throat, pulling me to my feet and then several feet off the ground before dropping me to the mat in a choke slam that made me understand just a little bit more why Kane is as universally feared as he is. He went into the cover and I remembered to kick out, mustering strength from an unknown location, about a millisecond before the referee's hand hit the mat for the third time.

I knew I had to come up with something, and quickly. Kane was making the throat-slashing motion again, and I had a feeling I wouldn't get up from a Tombstone Piledriver for…oh, I don't know…six or eight months. Knowing that the legitimately insane man in front of me would pull no punches, and had a very real desire to hurt me, badly, was enough to cause some adrenaline to surge through my body, enabling me to roll out of the ring and buy myself some time.

I reached under the ring, once again pulling out the first thing that came into my hand. This time it was a steel chair. It wasn't necessarily what I would've chosen if I'd had many options, but anything was better than my bare hands. I climbed back into the ring, shouted again, and, remembering that normal rules were not in effect, delivered a headshot with the chair that sent the Big Red Monster sprawling to the mat. It wasn't nice, but it was effective. Knowing that wouldn't be enough for the three-count and not having enough energy to spare for psychological warfare, I dragged my protesting body to the top rope and performed a modified Moonsault- the impact made me wonder whether I'd taken more damage than I'd dished out with that move- and dragged one of Kane's massive tree trunk-like legs up for the cover.

His kick out at the two count didn't surprise me per se, but it did disappoint me a bit. Some desperate part of me had been hoping that that could just be the end of it. That I could go back to the locker room, fall asleep, and wake up in several days. I shoved that part aside, waited for Kane to stagger to his feet (there was no way I was gonna drag him up) then planted him with a Storm Front that shook the ring with such ferocity that I wondered for a moment if it was going to come out from under us. The impact sent Kane's head flapping against the mat and his heavily lined eyes glazed over as I used my legs to maneuver him into a choke hold.

"Do you want to give up?" the referee asked, and got no response. When he asked again to the same effect a few seconds later, he grabbed Kane's arm and let go. The arm dropped to the mat. "ONE!" he shouted. He did it again. "TWO!" A third time. "THREE!" By the fourth time my hopes were actually beginning to rise that I had actually knocked the big man unconscious. "FOUR!" The next second felt like a life age as the referee turned back to Kane, lifted his arm in the air, then dropped it. The arm, miraculously, hit the mat. "FIVE!"

The ref gestured for the bell to be rung, and the match was over. I untangled myself from Kane's limp form, releasing the choke hold, and slumped back onto the mat myself for a moment or two. My energy was entirely gone. I finally sat up as the medical staff was getting to Kane and hauled my bruised and battered body backstage where Phil, Edge, and Lita were all waiting.

Edge clapped me on the back. "That's what I'm talking about!" Lita gave me a high five as Phil grabbed me and swung me around, giving me a kiss that woke me right up.

"Number one contender for a world title huh?" Phil grinned as we pulled away.

I sank down into a chair, thrilled that I was gonna get my Wrestlemania moment after all but exhausted from the day's events. "I'll think about that tomorrow. It's already been one hell of a day."

The rest of the show passed in a blur. I made a mental note to talk to Lita about what Tamina said at the next possible opportunity when I wasn't emotionally spent, then passed the rest of the night half asleep in Phil's locker room watching the show on and off. The long week had finally caught up with me. Granted I hadn't had any in ring action, but I hadn't slept more than an hour or so a night since every night was spent on the moving tour bus, and I'd done plenty of sparring and gym time, so this last match had basically taken the last drop of energy I had.

When the show was finally over we went to the first hotel we'd stayed at since last week's Raw. Phil and I said our goodnights when he dropped me off in front of the hotel and went to park the car, or so I thought until he walked into the lobby while I continued to fight with the receptionist. "What do you mean you can't find my damn reservation?" I growled. "I've been on the road for a week, I just got my ass kicked, its one in the morning, and you can't find my fucking reservation?"

"Ma'am I'm sorry, but it's not in my computer and we're booked solid for tonight."

"What's going on?" Phil asked, coming up next to me and seeing murder in my eyes.

"I apparently don't have a fucking room." I muttered. "And they apparently don't have any other rooms. Can I have the key to the bus? I'll just sleep there. I don't give a shit at this point."

Phil handed his ID to the extremely unhelpful receptionist who handed him his card without a word. "You can stay with me if you want" he offered, seemingly without reservation.

"If you don't mind." I answered. Normally I'd be a lot more reserved about sharing a room with someone I'd only been seeing for a week, but I trusted Phil with my life, and it's not like it would really be the first time anyway.

"Not at all. Shall we?" He gestured towards the elevator, and I nodded, repressing the urge to flip off the receptionist on our way to the room as she said "have a nice night!" in an overly cheerful voice.

"Bite me" I muttered under my breath, proud that I was able to keep it at that.

"Be nice" Phil laughed as we waited for the elevator.

I mock-glared at him. "I'll be nice in the morning."

"It _is_ morning" his look and tone told me that he was actually trying to be annoying.

"Not helping" I muttered as we finally got to his room.

I changed quickly in the bathroom before sitting down on the bed. "Do you have a 'side'?" I asked, fairly well asleep where I sat.

"Nope. Go ahead."

I laid down on top of the covers and was out within seconds.

A/N: Alright. There's the next chapter. Please let me know what you think! Sorry if it got a bit disjointed towards the end, I'm a bit exhausted myself, but I refused to sleep till I got this published for you guys.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: School's over, but now I'm working six days a week. The world seems to be conspiring against me ever updating again. Regardless, here I am, finally. Oh and just a note, I didn't realize that we'd hit 100,000 words with last chapter, but that's a huge milestone, so thank you guys for sticking by this story for as long as you have. And thank you especially to my reviewers. I love you guys.

I woke up the next morning after sleeping for an amount of time that could be loosely classified as a coma, feeling like I'd gotten run over by a Big Red Mach Truck. Which, I suppose, I had been. I only remembered that I was in Phil's room when I saw him sitting in a chair, grinning slyly at me. "What?"

He smirked. "Just thinking."

I raised an eyebrow, and when that actually caused pain, I was suddenly struck with a determination not to move from my current position for the rest of the day. "About what?"

"Well," his patented Punk smirk remained on his face as he answered. "I just realized that while we've had our first sleepover, I haven't actually taken you on a proper date yet. And since we don't have to get on the road tonight, I was trying to figure out the proper way to ask you out. But then you woke up and ruined my plan."

I laughed. "Sorry about that. So, you were planning on asking me out?"

"Something like that, yeah. So, are you interested?"

I grinned. "When did you have in mind?"

"I just got us reservations for six if that works…" he answered.

"Perfect" With that in mind I dragged myself out of bed with no small amount of effort, cringing often, and letting out a soft gasp as my right leg hit the floor and pain shot through my knee. _Fuck me. I hope this doesn't happen every time I have a match. Otherwise there's gonna be a real problem._

"How's your knee feel?" Phil asked. I was facing away from him when I rolled out of bed, so he didn't see my reaction, but was being his usual intuitive self.

I gritted my teeth and turned towards him putting what I was hoping was a convincing smile on my face. I didn't want him worrying about it when I was in the ring. "It's fine."

He raised his eyebrows at me and said in a patronizing tone, "Sure it is. But you should still put ice on it before we go out."

I agreed, saying I'd do it right after a much-needed shower. The shower gave my muscles an excuse to relax a bit, and between that and the required icing session I felt considerably better, and was able to get ready for our date with relative ease.

Phil assured me that the restaurant was informal, so my preparations were minimal. My one nod to the fact that it was a date and not just a normal outing was that I wore my hair down for the first time in months. The rest- a silver v-neck shirt and black pants, was fairly standard for me. Phil wore a plain black t-shirt and jeans, which just further assured me I wasn't underdressed.

We acted entirely normal until we left the hotel, not wanting our relationship public. But once we walked into the restaurant, Phil took my hand. "What if someone sees?" I whispered.

"Fuck them." he said easily.

I laughed, and followed him to the table. We ordered a couple of Pepsis, then began to engage in some idle chit chat. I realized that I really had no reason to be nervous that dating him would change much. It was just like our outings when we were just friends. The only difference was our clasped hands resting on the table. _It's just Phil, _I reminded myself, calming the butterflies in my stomach. _He's the same sarcastic, sweet, caring jerk he's always been. _

Our meals consisted of fantastic Mexican food. Phil insisted on covering the bill, despite my protests, then we walked around the city for a while, just enjoying the sights. The night was simple, but in my eyes, it was perfect, and I told him so when we got back to the room.

He responded by planting a kiss on my lips that made my heart race and saying "perfect huh? I've gotten plenty of compliments in my life, but that's a new one. I guess I gotta keep you around then." I swatted him and turned on the tv, and as we settled in to watch, I realized I was happier than I'd been in a long time.

Neither of us got much sleep that night, for no real reason, so by the time we got on the road the next day we were both tired. Or at least I was. Phil, on the other hand, had told me once that he was fine only sleeping a couple times a week. At the time I'd found it hard to comprehend. Seeing it in action, however, had made me decide he was just one of those lucky people who could get away with it.

The ride wasn't bad, but the house show wasn't anything to write home about. I faced Evan Bourne, getting the win by keeping him from going all high-flyer on me. Punk faced the Miz in a squash match. All in all, the card was a bust, and the crowd knew it. They were dead practically the entire night. "Who the fuck set these matches?" I asked to no one in particular as I peered through the curtain at the eerily silent crowd.

Zack Ryder-who had apparently materialized out of nowhere as I watched the crowd- answered my question, startling me in the process. "I guess Triple H had a family emergency or something. The card was set last minute."

"By who? A garden gnome?" I ranted, pissed that the crowd who had paid good money to come see us was getting the short end of the stick.

"Vickie apparently" Zack replied. _Well, that answers a few things. _

"Is she running Raw next week?" I groaned at the prospect. We didn't necessarily have any bad blood between us, but I got the sense from the looks she gave me that she wouldn't mind seeing me get run over by a passing train. Then again, that could just be her face. I wasn't sure. Regardless, she was incompetent, and I didn't want to see her in charge of anything more complicated than a mop.

"There was some talk of it, but I doubt it after tonight. Hopefully Hunter will be back. Otherwise, I don't know." Zack shrugged, getting ready to make his entrance.

"Alright. Well, good luck out there."

I gave up on staring through the curtain and went back to the backstage area, finally finding Phil's locker room and entering quietly. What I saw scared the hell out of me. Phil was sitting on a bench, his head in his lap, and from what I could see of him he was as pale as a sheet. "Phil?" I asked tentatively, "what's wrong?"

He looked up at me, and I saw unshed tears in his eyes. "I just got a call….my sister… she's in the hospital… she may not make it."

At his words I sat down next to him, wrapping my arms around him. "Oh god Phil, I'm so sorry. What happened?"

He shook his head, rage fighting to win out over sadness in his eyes. "Some asshole ran into her with his car. Hit and run. They can't find him, but they think he was hyped up on something."

I began to feel anger of my own at whoever the driver was for causing Phil that much pain. "Okay. What do you need?"

"I've got a flight out in an hour. Can you drive me to the airport?" he asked quietly, staring at the wall eerily.

"Of course." I grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. "Come on. We'll get your stuff and go."

He followed me, moving with a level of speed and determination only reached by someone who is desperately afraid. We made a split second stop at the hotel to grab his bags, then I proceeded to speed to the airport. The car ride was silent. Icouldn't figure out what to say. No words can make that easier to deal with.

I let him out at the door for the sake of speed, though I wanted to walk him to the gate in the hopes of finding some sort of encouraging words at the last minute, but there were none. Instead I pulled him into a hug as best I could in the car. "Call me okay?"

"I will. Thanks."

I nodded, and waited until he was out of sight to drive away, ignoring the car horns behind me. Driving back to the hotel, I realized I was scared, scared for him. His sister was basically the only family he had, and I knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to her. He took his role as the older brother very seriously, and would blame himself despite, or because of, the fact that he was nowhere near Chicago when the accident happened.

Finally I got back into the room , and I curled up in a ball on the bed, waiting for his call. It didn't come, and I finally fell into a dreadful, restless sleep. I woke up every ten minutes or so, checking my phone, then rolling back over, trying to ease the knots in my stomach from worrying about him so much.

When it was finally a decent enough hour, I rolled out of bed and packed my things. The tour bus was waiting for me, in spite of Phil's absence, so I spent a long, nearly twenty-four hour bus ride entirely alone. Finally, the next morning, I got the call. Phil said that his sister was stable, but in a coma, and that he wouldn't be coming back until she woke up and he got to talk to her. According to the doctor, that could take a week or more.

"Do you want me to come?" I finally asked, wanting more than ever to be there for him. To be there with him.

"Vince won't let you." Phil said, and I knew he was right. "And even if he would, I don't want to drag you down here. But I appreciate it. You have no idea how much that means."

I growled at the stupid restrictions in WWE but agreed. "Keep in touch alright? And let me know if you need anything."

"I will" he promised, and we hung up soon after. I flopped back onto the tour bus couch, only slightly less concerned than I'd been before the phone call. Phil had sounded marginally better, but his sister was still clearly in dire straights, and knowing him he was spending 24 hours a day at the hospital, not sleeping at all. _I should fucking be there._ I berated myself, the WWE, and anything else I could think of, but to no avail. There was absolutely nothing I could do. And I hated it.

My thoughts were cut off as we reached the hotel. I thanked the driver and dragged my bags into the hotel before forcing my way through a painfully long workout at the gym in the hopes of wearing off some of my energy. I had just enough time to shower before heading to the house show.

My opponent for the night was Damien Sandow. Now, normally I have no problem with the guy. In fact, I like him. But I was pissed. And he was in my line of fire. It was a slaughter match in which the Intellectual Savior of the Unwashed Masses barely walked out of the match. I felt bad about it, but not all that bad. I didn't really have it in me to feel all that bad.

After my match I stormed through the hallways to catering, or at least that was my destination before Lita grabbed me. "Hey. Why do you look like you want to rip out someone's throat? And why did you torture Damien?"

"It's Phil" I explained. "His sister's in the hospital and… I'm just worried about him. And pissed that there's nothing I can do."

She nodded. "Is she okay?"

"She's in a coma. I guess the doctors think she'll be alright eventually but Phil's obviously going to stay until she wakes up."

After considerable prodding, she convinced me to go out with her and Adam that night. It ended up being a really good decision. Nothing could really take my mind off Phil, but even the partial distraction was good. And it gave us all a chance to talk strategy. I guess Kaitlyn was coming up next week to be a part of what was now Lita's movement in the women's division, and the Bellas and Eve were on their way out. That just left Beth and Natalya as the black sheep, which was fine. Meanwhile, Adam and I discussed all the members of the Elimination Chamber matches and who would be best to face at Wrestlemania. Then the conversation moved on to non-wrestling things, and I found that I was having a good time in spite of myself.

I went back to the hotel that night and talked to Phil for a while on the phone. There had been some slight improvement in her brain function, and his voice sounded a bit brighter. I reassured him as best I could with my nonexistent medical knowledge, and when we hung up I at least felt confident that he would be okay.

The next few days passed in a blur. House shows came and went, but their significance was lost on me. It was only that Saturday, when I finally got the call from Phil that his sister had woken up and was definitely trending in the right direction for a full recovery that things started to return to normal. He said he'd be back in time for Monday Night Raw, despite everyone's insistence that he not rush things. I had to admit… I couldn't wait to see him.

He got off the plane just in time for us to head to the arena, but that didn't stop me from pulling the car over to the side of the road and pulling him into a kiss that lasted for several minutes. "I'm so glad she's okay." I finally said when we pulled away.

He smiled back at me. "Me too. By all accounts she…she shouldn't be. But she is, and that's what matters."

"Yeah, it is."

"Listen, thank you for… you know…" he began.

I shook my head. "Oh no. None of that. Phil, leaving out the number of times you've saved my ass in the past six months alone, that's what…" I stumbled over my words, looking for the right one "…partners. That's what partners do. Besides, I feel like I should've been there."

He shook his head. "There's no way that you could have been. And honestly, there wouldn't have been anything for you to do that you didn't do on the phone anyway." He looked at the clock. "Fuck. We're gonna be late."

Looking at the clock as well I realized that we had lost a lot more time than I'd predicted. With that, we sped off to the arena, leaving the serious discussion behind us. By the time we reached the arena, I was calling Phil a girl, and the status quo had been restored.

A/N: I hate this chapter. Like, you guys have no idea how much I hate it. That's why I cut it short. I'm hoping I can actually get my writing abilities back, and next chapter will be about 1000% better. Until then, please consider this a fluke and a filler chapter. And I promise the next update will come more quickly. And it'll hopefully suck a lot less.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Well, here we are at chapter 30. Yet another milestone for this story comes and goes. Again, I'd just like to say, thank you all for sticking with me through this story. That goes double for my reviewers. You guys are amazing.

I sat in Phil's dressing room, thinking over what I had to do tonight. As soon as we walked through the doors, Triple H had found us and told us about our matches. CM Punk was fighting The Big Show, and I was fighting none other than Alberto Del Rio, who had apparently requested to fight me in his return match right after being medically cleared the day before. And, of course, I had no way to refuse the match that wouldn't make me look bad. So I was left with no choice but to fight him and hope I could do it without being overcome with bad memories.

"I want to come down with you" Phil declared finally, breaking the heavy silence that had hung in the room ever since I told him I was going to fight in the match, in spite of his protests.

I shook my head. "You can't. This…" I gestured between us "isn't supposed to be public."

He ran his hand over his gelled-back hair. "I don't really care about that right now. I just want to be there to make sure nothing happens."

I stood up, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You have no idea how much that means to me, but I've gotta fight my own battles Phil. It's the only way for me to get any respect around here."

He looked up at me, nodding. "Alright…but if he tries any weird shit, I'm coming out anyway alright? No one can blame me for that."

I sighed but agreed, knowing it was the only way he would feel even somewhat comfortable with the match. Besides, if Alberto Del Rio decided to molest me for the world to see, Phil coming out to kick his ass would be the last thing on anyone's mind.

The time before the match started passed quickly. It didn't help that we'd arrived at the arena later than usual, but I still would've sworn the clock was moving at double time just to spite me. Before I knew it, Phil and I were standing backstage. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I shook my head, stomach turning backflips. "I'm sure I **don't**." I answered. "But I'm also sure I don't have a choice."

"Of course you do. You could go to Triple H and tell him what that bastard did to you" I could hear the urgency in his voice, and it killed me.

"I can't." I half-whispered.

"Why not?" he asked, exasperation shining through in his tone.

"I…" I hesitated "I can't stand the idea of having my personal business get out like that." And that was half true. I didn't want word of Del Rio's assault getting out among the roster, but I also couldn't stand the idea that the entire WWE Universe could become privy to my past life.

Phil sighed. "What aren't you telling me?"

_Damn him for being able to read me like a book_. "Alright, I didn't tell you this at the time but… he blackmailed me. I guess when he was… you know… he saw my scars and made it clear that if I reported him, he would make it his last act in the business to reveal my secret to the world."

Phil's gaze hardened a bit, but not towards me. "Fucking hell. So that's why…"

I nodded, giving him a quick hug before turning towards the curtain. I couldn't look into his eyes. I wouldn't be able to stay focused if I did. I felt Phil's strong hands rubbing my shoulders for a moment, then my music hit. "You can do this," he whispered. "I'll be right here."

I performed my entrance with as much energy as I could manage. Then I watched Del Rio come out in his million dollar car-du-jour. Restraining my urge to run like hell, I instead forced my lips into a defiant smirk. He returned the gesture with a sneer that made my blood freeze.

Just when I had gotten my terror under control, the bell rang and the fear came flooding back with a vengeance. I gulped and dove in for the first headlock of the match. The control it gave me made things a bit easier, and the resulting surge of confidence allowed me to find some part of my normal focus, and go in for some real moves. I used the headlock to force Del Rio to the mat, following it up with a harsher-than-usual knee to the spine, pulling his arms back as well. The alleged submission hold didn't last long, however, not that it ever did. He powered out within seconds, and was back to his feet, throwing harsh punches that eventually drove me into the corner. From there he propped me up into a sitting position on the top turnbuckle. I have to assume he was planning on giving me an uncharacteristic superplex, but he didn't quite get the chance. I'd been playing possum, and turning the tides on him, I leapt to my feet and launched myself at him in a suicide dive.

After a cover that yielded a two count, I dragged him back to his feet, and that, of course, is when everything went to hell. He chuckled darkly, freezing me in my tracks for a second. That's all it took for him to drive me to the ground, taking full advantage of my reaction. Then, pretending to be hooking my leg for the cover, he grabbed something that had nothing to do with my leg. Naturally, the referee didn't notice, and the cameras were at the wrong angle to get anything either. I shrunk back, flailing my limbs out in an attempt to hit any part of him and buy myself a few seconds. It turned out to be a futile gesture. By the time I had staggered to my feet, Punk had sprinted down to the ring and low-blowed Del Rio, who was on the ground singing falsetto when the bell rang, signaling the disqualification.

I knew the fans were confused, but I didn't have it in me to address them, or any idea what I'd say if I did, so I simply walked backstage as quickly as I could, ignoring them for the first time in my career.

Once I got behind the curtain, Phil grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. "Hey, wait," he said. "Are you alright?"

I pulled my arm away from him. "The hell I am" I snapped. "Do you have any idea how that must have looked? What McMahon is gonna think?"

Phil looked at me in shock. "That's what you're worried about right now? Appearances?"

"Of course I am" I retorted. "My career, and my ass, are on both on the line now."

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, while looking at me with confusion written across his face. "We agreed though…"

I sighed. Somewhere deep down I knew I was being unreasonable. But I was far too angry on the surface to care. "If he did something blatant. Something that would make your reaction seem reasonable to the fans. No one saw what he did except you- and only because you were looking for it. Even the fucking referee didn't see anything, and he was in the ring with us. And now I look like just another damsel in distress who can't fight her own fucking battles."

"I'm sorry alright" he shot back harshly. "I'm sorry I couldn't sit around and watch my girlfriend get sexually assaulted on television. I guess that makes me a bad person. My bad."

"I could've handled it alright?" I growled, his tone further fueling my anger.

He raised his eyebrow at me. "Didn't look like it from where I was standing" he spat.

That was the final straw. "I can't believe you'd throw that in my fucking face." I turned and started walking away.

"Wait I—" Phil started, and I could hear the apology in his tone but couldn't bring myself to turn around.

"Don't bother." I shot back before quickly rounding a corner and breaking into a dead run. I blindly dashed to the door to the arena and made it to the parking lot before I collapsed next to the door gasping for breath from the adrenaline and the tears.

I don't know how long I sat there sobbing, shaking from both the cold and the excess of emotion, but it was only when I began to feel myself falling asleep that I realized the stupidity of sitting outside in Philadelphia in February. It was around that time that I also realized that I was, naturally, locked out of the arena, and without any way to get back to the hotel. _If this night gets any fucking worse… _I mused disjointedly as I fumbled around for my phone with stiff limbs. Finally I found the device and dialed it haphazardly. Amy answered on the first ring. "Hey what's up?"

"A-are you st-still at the arena?" My teeth chattering made my voice barely intelligible, and I cursed my stupidity, all the while hoping she would at least get the gist of what I was saying.

"Yeah, I have a match later. Amber, where are you? What's going on?"

"Parking lot, locked out" I managed, not bothering to answer the other part of the question, figuring that could wait until I could speak like a human being again.

"I'll be right there." With that she hung up. She was true to her word. I had barely gotten myself to a standing position when she opened the door. I got inside as quickly as possible, doing my best to ignore the questioning look she was giving me. "What the fuck happened? How long were you out there?"

"Phil… Phil and I had a fight and I ran outside and it took me a while to realize or care about the temperature or the locked door."

She grimaced. "We've gotta get you back to the hotel. But… fuck. I've got a match in fifteen. Gimme a sec alright? I'll grab Adam and get him to take you back to the hotel. I'll catch a ride back after the show and we'll talk then alright?"

I groaned at the thought of talking about what had just happened, but knew it was inevitable, so I just nodded. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Stay here." she instructed.

A few minutes later Adam came and found me, and we drove back to the hotel in silence. There wasn't any discussion of whether or not he was coming back to my room with me, he just did, and ultimately I was grateful for that. As much as I didn't want to talk, I didn't really want to be alone either. And it was only when I'd eaten the majority of a meal and was clutching my second cup of hot chocolate like a lifeline that he finally asked what happened.

I, reluctantly, relayed the story of what Del Rio had done a few months earlier, showed him the scars that had become the man's leverage against me, and explained the details of tonight's match and the resulting blowout with Phil.

To his credit, Adam remained silent throughout the entire story. It was only when all was said and done that he ran his hand through his hair and muttered "holy shit."

"Basically," I responded dryly, still amazed that I had managed to relay all that information without any emotional reaction whatsoever. _I must be detaching or something._ "And now I have no idea what to do."

He exhaled heavily and opened his mouth-presumably to respond- only to be interrupted by Amy's arrival. I then had to retell the entire story. By the time I had done that, not only was I berating myself for my bad planning, but it was also nearing one in the morning. Not that I was really thinking of sleep, not yet anyway.

"What I was about to say before you got in Ames, is that the best way to resolve this is to be honest, both with Vince and the fans. It's not going to be easy, but they're more likely to accept you for that than whatever it is they're wrongly assuming right now." I looked at Adam in shock, not really capable of a verbal response.

"He's right." Amy finally stated. "Trust me, I of all people know how much it blows having to reveal your personal information to the world, but it's the lesser of all the evils here. Otherwise they probably will never take you seriously. But only you can decide if it's worth it."

I thought about it for a moment. How far was I willing to go to make sure my career stayed on track? "I'm gonna need some time to think" I finally mumbled.

"You don't have to decide until next week's Raw" Amy reminded me. I nodded, having forgotten entirely that the Raw roster had some das off in the coming week.

"What about Phil?" I finally asked. "I seriously fucked up."

"He'll get over it." Amy said confidently. "Give him a little time. He'll come around. He cares way to much about you not to. I can see it in his eyes."

Adam nodded his agreement. "The dude has it bad for you. And I don't think anything was said that was unforgivable."

"I hope not." I leaned back on the bed, yawning.

"Get some sleep kiddo." Adam instructed. "We'll sort this out."

Exhausted and not needing to be told twice, I crawled under the covers. "Thank you," I said pointedly to both of them. "I would be royally screwed without you guys."

"Hell, I've done stranger things for friends" Amy responded.

"Yep." Adam agreed. "This is pretty run of the mill, wouldn't you say?"

Amy grinned. "Definitely. Remember that time with Jay and the pineapple…?"

They relayed the story, and by the end I was chuckling in spite of myself. By the time they left, I was in a somewhat brighter mood which allowed me to actually fall asleep with some level of confidence that everything could be resolved, eventually.

The next morning I woke up far too early, but knowing full well what I had to do. I pulled out my phone and sent out a text message. **Are you awake?—Amber**

**You know I don't sleep…Why, what's up?—Phil**

I took a deep breath, calming my nerves before answering. **Can we talk? In person? I don't want to leave things like this before we both go home for a week.—Amber**

**Me either. Where and when?—Phil**

I threw on some clothes and responded. **I'll come over to your room in a few minutes?—Amber**

He texted back in the affirmative, and I finished getting ready, practically racing to his room. Finally I found myself knocking on his door. He answered instantly. "Hey" he said quietly, his voice betraying the awkwardness of the situation.

"Hi" I paused, trying to figure out what to say. "Er… can I come in?" I finally asked.

He responded with a sheepish half-smile and stood aside, gesturing me into the room. I walked in and sat stiffly in one of the chairs. We stared at each other for some period of time until I finally blurted out "I'm sorry…for going off the deep end, and for being such a colossal bitch."

"I'm sorry too." he shook his head, running his hand over his face. "When I get going, I can say some pretty horrible things. I shouldn't have suggested you can't handle yourself. That was the worst fucking thing that could've come out of my mouth in that moment."

"That hurt a bit" I admitted, "but I probably deserved it after blaming you for ruining my career, which, by the way, was not only off base but a horrible thing to say to someone who just put their ass on the line for you… No, I think I get the 'biggest douchebag of the night' award by a landslide."

"Well, as long as you're aware of it" Phil responded coldly before smirking several seconds later. "I was kidding, Amber. I'm not mad. I was last night, but if anyone should understand spouting off shit you don't mean because you're in a bad situation, it ought to be me. God knows I do it enough."

I breathed a sigh of relief at his words. "So we're okay?" I asked tentatively.

He chuckled. "Yes, we're okay. The real question is," his tone turned serious again, "where are you going to take things from here?"

I moved over to the bed, sitting down next to him. "Adam says my best chance of getting my career back on track is to tell the fans, and McMahon, everything."

"Really?" Phil asked, surprise evident in his tone. "I mean, that's definitely an option if you want to take it that way, but I don't think it's your only choice. We might be able to spin this another way- like I was just reigniting my feud with him or something. If I cut a good enough promo, I can hopefully convince the fans to see things in a different light."

"Do you think it'll work?" I asked, intrigued by the possibility.

"It would if you were a guy fighting another guy. There's no reason why it shouldn't work here." he answered.

"Alright. Well, the good news is, we have six days to think about it. Speaking of which" I looked over at the clock on the wall. "SHIT. I gotta go. I gotta be at the airport in an hour."

He smirked, standing up. "You gotta learn to keep track of time better."

I smacked him. "Yeah, yeah. I know. But for now" I gave him a quick kiss "I gotta go."

He grabbed my arm, making me pause. I turned to look at him again. "Amber I… I love you."

I looked at him in shock.

A/N: Yeah, I'm evil, I know. Muahahaha. Anyway, I had a bit less trouble with this chapter, so I'm hoping I hit my groove again with this story fairly soon. Please review!


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Aaaand proceed with the table shots to the face for taking so long to update. They're well deserved at this point. For it being summer, I've been ridiculously busy and also have been losing some motivation for this story as well. Regardless, I'm going to finish this story before starting anything else, so here I am, back with another chapter. Also, let me know if you think I need to change the rating. I'm leaning towards doing it, but I'm not entirely sure if it's necessary or not.

My mouth opened and shut again. Words were failing me. After a few unsuccessful attempts to speak, Phil turned away, running his hand over his hair. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, "I know I rushed things. You don't have to say anything. I'm not gonna, you know…be offended or anything."

I silenced his rambling with a passionate kiss. "If you'd shut up and listen to me…" he looked at me expectantly. "I love you too."

He blinked at me a few times before grinning broadly. "Really?"

I kissed him again. "Really."

With that one word he picked me up, deepened the kiss, and started us in the direction of the bed. "So what time does that flight leave again?" he asked breathily.

I laid back on the bed, pulling him down with me, hand tangling in his shirt. "What flight?" I smirked.

Our tongues did battle as he began unbuttoning my shirt. When he reached the last button, I pulled it off entirely. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Fuck yes" I answered, pulling his shirt off as well. He kissed me again, hands running lightly up my sides before unclasping my bra.

He groaned. "You are absolutely fucking stunning." he murmured, brushing his thumbs lightly over my cleavage before doing something with his tongue ring and my right breast that made me gasp and arch up towards him, digging my fingernails into his back. He simply smirked in response.

Neither of us were in a position to hold on very long. Within moments he was inside me, hitting my spot expertly as he used ones of his hands to tease and torture me, guiding me through three separate, earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went over the edge himself.

"That was… holy fuck…" I laid back on the bed, gasping for breath.

"You're not too bad yourself" he winked.

We laid there for a few minutes, the only sound in the room our heavy breathing. Phil was the one to finally break the silence. "I think you missed your flight" he grinned.

"Mmmm" I agreed. "Too bad I don't really care."

"You know," he mused. "My flight doesn't leave for another few hours. I bet I could get another ticket, if you wanted to come home with me."

I smiled, snuggling into him. "That sounds perfect. Especially the 'few hours' part."

He pulled me in closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, leaving my head to fall on his chest. "I figured you'd like that."

Suddenly I was hit with a wave of anxiety, realizing what he must have seen. I stiffened, and he looked down at me with the unspoken question in his eyes. "Does it bother you?" I asked quietly. "The scars?" While my wrists were bad, my upper thighs were far worse, a veritable lattice of old scars that left the skin wholly unrecognizable. Personally I found it repulsive and I was suddenly terrified he would think the same.

"No" he responded, the sincerity evident in his voice. "It's like I told you before—you survived. That's what matters." He paused. "You're beautiful Amber. Don't let anyone, especially you, tell you otherwise."

I nodded into his chest, wondering how the fuck I'd gotten this lucky. Several more minutes of silence passed before I asked "So… you all packed?"

"Yeah, ready to go whenever. We have time." Hearing his words I relaxed and closed my eyes, just enjoying the beauty of the moment.

Phil woke me up three hours later with a shit eating grin on his face. "Fuck." I muttered.

"Yep. We definitely did some of that." He winked. "But now we have a plane to catch, so you're gonna have to wait a while for round two."

I growled, sitting up quickly. "NOT what I meant."

He laughed. "I know. Relax. We have plenty of time to get to the airport."

I nodded, gathering my phone and key card. "Sorry for falling asleep on you."

"Nah, it was cute." He gestured towards the door. "Go grab your things so we can leave." He grinned, adding humor to the statement.

"That eager to get rid of me?" I smirked.

He took on a sarcastic tone. "Yeah, that's totally it. Get the fuck out of my room, woman."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well if that's how it's gonna be then you definitely are not getting a 'round two' tonight."

He chased me out the door. "We'll just see about that now won't we? Meet you in the lobby?"

He got his round two. And three. And…erm…four. There are some real benefits to not sleeping much, it turns out.

Our five day vacation in Chi-town was wonderful. The only drawback was that I spent too much of the time- in spite of Phil's best efforts- trying to figure out what to do Monday night. Finally when Sunday night rolled around, we finally made a decision. Phil would cut the promo, and then after he threw his weight around with Vince for a while, Del Rio would fill the last spot in the Raw elimination chamber, replacing an injured Chris Jericho, and making the feud credible. With the pay per view six days away, putting Del Rio in the match in response to his grievances with Punk (especially since Punk caused the injuries that kept him out for so long) would be logical, and hopefully then everyone would move on with their lives.

If the fan reaction was any indication, it worked. Punk apologized for costing me my match for the world to see. Del Rio demanded a match against Punk in retribution. Triple H gave him one better, they had a stare-off, and I escaped the ring unnoticed. Later on I fought, and won, a match against Cody Rhodes, and from what I heard the fans were firmly in my corner once again.

At the end of the night, when he came in from his dark match, I threw myself into Phil's arms. "Thank you" I murmured. "That was brilliant."

He grinned. "Yeah, I'm not an idiot _all_ the time. Just most of the time."

I smacked him on the arm. "You know what I mean."

His smirk turned into a genuine smile. "I know. I'm glad it worked out too."

I shook my head, laughing in relief. _It's. Fucking. Over. _"Let's go out tonight" I suggested, suddenly full of newfound energy.

He laughed at my random perkiness. "Alright…Where should we go?"

I thought about it for a moment before coming up with the perfect idea. "Well, we are in Saint Louis. Let's go up in the arch!"

To his credit, he only looked at me like I was insane for a moment. Maybe two. Still, I'm not sure I wouldn't have looked at myself like I was batshit crazy had I been in his shoes. "Why not?" he finally asked, before grabbing my hand and leading the way to the tour bus.

The ride was short. The problem was finding parking for an oversized tour bus. Or at least it would have been if Punk hadn't just told the driver to come back when we were done. The man, who looked like he could use a good meal, agreed gratefully.

Things got even better when the lady at the counter recognized us and said she'd be sure we got a private viewing. We protested, saying it wasn't necessary, but apparently it was a slow night anyway and easy enough to arrange. We thanked her, and signed a few things for her son, then we were on our way.

It took about fifteen minutes inside a tiny pod-like chamber to get to the top. We chatted through the ride, making the cramped quarters more tolerable. Soon enough, we were at the top, looking through the windows at the city of Saint Louis lit up under the night sky. "It's beautiful" I gasped.

"Yeah," Phil responded, voice entirely devoid of sarcasm for once. "It is."

I don't know how long we stood there, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. Time seemed to slow down as we watched the world go by. Finally, he pulled me into a long passionate kiss. When we pulled back for air he murmured "we should probably go…"

"Yeah" I agreed reluctantly. "Probably."

The perfection of the night was lessened somewhat when, about five minutes into the ride back to ground level, the metal pod suddenly screeched, jerked up and down for a second, before coming to a complete halt. "Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me." Phil muttered before grabbing his phone, only to set it back down with a grunt of frustration, apparently realizing there wasn't any service.

"There's no emergency hatch" I muttered. "How is there no fucking emergency hatch?" My breathing grew my shallow as panic began to set in. I'd never done well with enclosed spaces, let alone being trapped in them. And this particular pod thing was just about big enough for four people to sit in, and you had to crawl into it in the first place, the ceiling being far too low to stand up in.

"Hey, we're gonna be _fine" _he emphasized. "I'm sure this shit happens all the time. It sucks, but they'll probably have us out in no time."

"You're kidding right?" I looked at him incredulously. "If this happened all the time they'd be shut down. They probably have no fucking idea what to do. We're gonna be stuck here forever" I groaned, somewhere between pissed and terrified.

He sighed. "I hope not. Regardless though… There's nothing we can do, so the best thing we can do right now is try to stay calm."

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my hands from shaking. It didn't work. "Come here" he said, wrapping his arm around me. My head fell on his chest and I felt his hand rubbing small circles on my back. "It's gonna be okay. I'm right here."

I nodded, feeling pathetic, but also feeling slightly better. "Sorry" I muttered. "The last thing you need right now is me to go to pieces on you."

He shushed me. "Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm fine."

I looked up at him and he gave me a convincing smile. "You're amazing, you know that?" I asked.

"Well," he scoffed, "I don't want to brag…but…"

I smirked in spite of the situation. "Can you ever just take a compliment?"

"Nope." he grinned. "Besides, I figured being an egotistical ass might distract you for a minute."

"It worked" I admitted, before grinning evilly. "Although I have a better idea. Do you see any cameras in here?"

He looked around. "Nope." Then he raised an eyebrow. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

I disentangled myself from his arm and began kissing him. "Damn right I am."

Thirty minutes later we both panting, absolutely spent, and the stupid pod thing was moving again. We yanked our clothes back on just in time for the doors to open. "That was a brilliant fucking idea" Phil muttered, still breathless.

"Yeah," I gasped. "It really was."

A security person came over to check on us afterwards, and we said that we were fine. As we were walking off, he whispered "Well done stallion" to Phil before winking at me and saying "don't worry… I won't tell." and smiling conspiratorially. I blushed beet red and ran out of the building. Phil ran after me, laughing his ass off.

"HOLY SHIT" I finally managed once we were far enough away. "HOW THE HOLY FUCK?"

Phil doubled over, clearly in stitches. "STALLION?" He choked out between gasps.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "You actually enjoyed that?"

He looked up at me. "Well…" he answered sheepishly. "Kind of…"

I rolled my eyes. "You're such a guy. What if he tells the dirt sheets? What if we get arrested or some shit?"

"We won't. I slipped him a fifty after you ran away. Besides, I don't think he had a single fucking clue who we were. Must not be a fan."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Alright…Still embarrassing though… Stallion" I finally cracked, smirking at the absurdity of the comment, and the situation. I was still a bit amped up on adrenaline from the whole being-trapped-in-a-pod thing…and the other activities… so it was hard not to be in a lighthearted mood.

Phil doubled over again, and this time I joined him. "So…was that the most public place you've ever…?" he finally asked.

I gave him a look. "I try not to make a habit out of that sort of thing, so yeah. You?"

His eyes shifted to the side. I raised an eyebrow. "Well…" he admitted. "There was this time with Amy once…"

"Where?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

His face got slightly redder than it had been a minute ago. "Uhmmm… We might've… under the ring… once…"

I looked at him incredulously. "WHAT? DURING A SHOW?"

"I didn't say it was a good idea…" he laughed. "Except that it was."

"How did you get out of there?"

"We waited until everyone left. Then we snuck out." He grinned impishly.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Wow. Daredevil much?"

"Less so now than I used to be" he admitted, "but yeah. There was definitely a certain amount of thrill involved. Just made it better."

I cringed. Now we were getting into 'too much information' territory.

"Sorry" he face palmed. "Open mouth, insert foot. I'll shut up now."

"It's alright, I don't mind." That wasn't entirely true, but I didn't want him to feel bad either. It's not like he had gone into great detail or anything. That much would be awkward.

"Mhmm" he responded dryly. But he changed the subject, for which I was incredibly grateful. "So, we should probably have the guy bring the bus…"

"Probably a good idea" I answered. Then, after a moment, I said. "You know what tonight needs? Ice cream."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want to incorporate that? Sheesh. I took you from nunhood to complete daredevil in one night."

I smacked him. "I want to eat it, actually. But afterwards…well…"

He grinned, and we boarded the bus a few seconds later. Phil muttered a few instructions to the driver that were beyond my ability to hear, and we were off.

I shot him a sideways glance to which he just responded "You'll see" with a wink before falling silent, smiling to himself.

A few minutes later we pulled into a parking lot that was almost entirely dark. I raised my eyebrows.

"Trust me." Phil grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bus. I followed warily as he led me through a door to what looked for all the world like a hole in the wall. Or a gang hideout. Either way. Then we wandered down a flight of rickety wooden stairs before coming face to face with yet another door. Phil knocked three times, paused, knocked again, and the door opened, revealing the interior of the room, which changed my opinion entirely.

The room was so drastically different from its surroundings that it made me wonder if I'd walked through a wormhole or something equally strange. The walls were decorated with the feel of a medieval tavern, and the overall rustic feel of the place was coupled with a quiet sense of community. There were a fair number of people in the restaurant, especially given the late hour, but they all seemed to know each other, at least to some degree. It was abundantly clear that the general public was not privy to the knowledge of the restaurant's existence, giving it the feel of a place not touched by reality, and created to be that way.

The host greeted Phil warmly and by name, and, without any requests being made, she guided us to a quiet booth in the back. She did not, however, hand us any menus. When I asked, Phil replied that they had a fairly limited but incredibly good selection which everyone who went there came to know, but that their specialty was their homemade ice cream. I soon came to understand why. The small sundae I ordered was so rich that it was beyond my ability to finish, but I damn well tried. "Best ice cream ever" I finally said, sitting back in the booth. "How do you know about this place anyway?"

He shrugged. "A friend of a friend owns the place." Was his vague answer.

I didn't ask any questions. I was too full and happy and just generally at peace. Besides the fact that it was nearing two in the morning and I was on the verge of a food coma. That might have had something to do with it as well.

Settling the check, Phil coaxed me out of the booth and back onto the bus. I would've been content to sleep right there in the restaurant, but that probably would have been a bad idea.

I was nearly asleep by the time my head hit the pillow. "I love you" I mumbled as Phil climbed in next to me.

He kissed the top of my head. "I love you too" were the last words I heard before I drifted off.

Peace, however, doesn't tend to last. At least not in my experience. A nightmare had me thrashing awake a few hours later. And people wonder why I never want to fucking sleep. Unfortunately I managed to land a fairly hard shot to Phil before I came to my sense, enveloped in his strong arms, both restraining and comforting.

"Amber it's me" he whispered. "It's me, it's alright. You're safe." he repeated until I stopped fighting him and relaxed into his embrace.

"Fuck. I'm sorry. Are you alright?" My eyes welled up as terror flared up within me, fear that I had hurt him in my own stupidity.

He scoffed, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Please woman. As if those weak little fists could damage the great CM Punk." His tone turned serious again. "But seriously, what were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember" I rarely did. If anything I got flashes of the dream days later when a random word or action triggered them, but even that was rare.

He nodded. "Are you alright now?"

"Yeah, just not gonna be getting anymore sleep tonight." _Or ever again._

He pulled out a pack of cards instead of delving any deeper. "War?"

"You're on" I grinned. For a grownass adult, I enjoyed playing War way too much. Seriously. It was a problem.

We played for the better part of four hours. Phil won the first game. I took the second and was dominating in the third when we arrived at the hotel. "Let's call that a draw." Phil suggested cheekily.

"No chance! I was gonna win and you know it!" I huffed indignantly.

"But the game wasn't over yet," he reminded me, his voice holding a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. "I could've staged a heroic comeback."

"With three cards?" I asked incredulously.

He put his cards down on the table. Three twos. "Alright… maybe not."

I threw my fist in the air. "WINNING" I said in a horribly sing-song voice reminiscent of Charlie Sheen.

"Oh yeah?" he grabbed me and threw me over one shoulder as if I was a petulant child. He then moved me into a position where he could easily enough toss me onto the bed. "Yeild!" he growled jokingly.

"NEVER!" I shouted, squirming.

My ass got flung onto the bed. "I still win." I declared.

He shook his head, laughing. "You're impossible."

I stood up, smirking. "Yep. And proud of it." I pulled him into a kiss, deepening it quickly and playing with the hem of his shirt. He ran his hand through my hair and I pulled away. "Now, do _you_ want to yield so we can get up to the room?" I grinned evilly.

"I don't CARE" he gasped, exasperation showing in his face. "You win. Fine. Let's go."

I winked. "Always do. Now let's get going. I think we have plans."

A/N: So there it is, Chapter 31. Please review! And in return, I promise to try to update a hell of a lot sooner next time. Because really, that was awful, and I apologize.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Another inexcusable period without an update. Grr. Ironically, I'll probably be able to write more with school starting up soon, so I should be back to speed within the next couple weeks assuming I hit my stride. But thank you all as usual for your lovely reviews.

The week, despite the pay per view on Sunday, was packed with house shows. Phil and I were pretty much either performing or travelling at all times. The remaining few hours were spent either scarfing down food or trying—for the most part unsuccessfully—to catch up on sleep. So by the time Sunday came around we were both fairly well burnt out from the hellish week, and Phil still had to fight in an elimination chamber match. I only had to go out and cut a promo on whoever I chose to fight. Relatively easy night all things considered, at least physically. Meanwhile Phil would be opening the show fighting Brock Lesnar, John Cena, Sheamus, The Big Show, and Alberto Del Rio for the chance to hold the WWE Championship going into Wrestlemania. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous for him. After a week like we'd had, going into a match like that was nothing short of downright dangerous. But if the roles were reversed I'd be doing the same thing.

We got to the arena relatively early, but the time past nervewrackingly quickly. Between worrying about Phil and figuring out who my Wrestlemania opponent should be, show time came way too quickly. I walked Phil to the curtain before finding Adam in a viewing room. We were gonna watch the matches together, then he would advise me on who to fight.

John Cena and Big Show started the match. By the time the first buzzer went off there had been a couple nasty falls on the grating but both Superstars were still active in the match. Brock Lesnar changed that, taking out the Big Show with an F-5 within a few seconds of entering the ring. He and John squared off for a while until Sheamus entered. He and John together were enough to start wearing down Lesnar, and when Punk came in the three of them were able to keep the man down long enough for Sheamus to score the pinfall.

At that point Alberto Del Rio entered the match. Punk wasted no time going after him, leaving John and Sheamus to brawl. Punk was completely dominating Del Rio but seemed to be enjoying himself too much to go for the pinfall. Meanwhile John and Sheamus ended up locked up on the mat in a double pin. After a moment of confusion, the referee signaled that they were both eliminated, to the utter shock of the crowd. Capitalizing on the distraction, Punk got the GTS on Del Rio, ending the match and reclaiming the title. "YES!" I shouted, grinning.

"Hang on there kid," Adam chuckled at my reaction before going back to business. "What are you gonna do if you have to fight him?"

"I'll do it" I responded. "Although I'd rather not."

He nodded. "He's a formidable opponent antyway, regardless of the fact that he knows all of your moves like the back of his hands. It would be an amazing match, but not an ideal one. Hopefully Smackdown's match ends well for you." That match, placed at the end of the card, would pit the champion Randy Orton against Money in the Bank winner Cody Rhodes, Wade Barrett, Damien Sandow, Ryback, and Rey Mysterio. Unless Randy took the victory, or Ryback, I would pretty much be better off facing any of them than Punk, with the possible exception of Wade Barrett.

Phil rejoined us soon after the match ended, a grin on his face that even I rarely saw outside of the bedroom. I threw my arms around him. "Congratulations champ" I said before crashing my lips against his in a deep kiss. Some unknown amount of time later Adam coughed, making us pull away sheepishly.

"Congratulations man" Adam said, brushing off our awkward attempts at apologies. "That was one hell of a match."

The smile never left Phil's face as he set his title down on a side table. "Thanks. It really was." He turned back to me. "So, I guess this means we might have a match huh?"

'Not if I can help it" I answered. "But maybe, yeah." I sat back down on the couch, not wanting to think about the possibility of that match. It wasn't like we didn't spar all the time, and hell, I wouldn't mind fighting him on TV, we'd put on one hell of a match, but not on The Grandest Stage Of Them All with the WWE title on the line.

He sat down next to me. "Hey, no matter what happens, we're gonna be fine. You know that right?"

His comforting smile elicited a nod from me. "I know."

We all stayed like that for the rest of the pay per view, Amy joining us after another successful title defense against Beth Phoenix. Soon the Smackdown elimination chamber match was scheduled to start. Afterwards I would have the length of a video package to decide what I wanted to do. Then I would have to come out and announce my decision to the world.

Wade Barrett and Cody Rhodes began the match, both proving early on why they were considered the future of the company. The first pinfall, however, did not occur until both Damien Sandown and Rey Mysterio were in the squared circle when Mysterio executed a perfect 619 against Cody Rhodes. Catching him in a moment of celebration, however, Barrett was able to pick off Mysterio with a Wasteland just as Ryback entered the match.

Ryback made quick work of Sandow, while Barrett played a game of quick strikes and avoidance until the champion finally entered the match. Ryback is a beast, there's no arguing with that, but The Viper's speed and experience ended up being the deciding factor. With Wade's help, Randy executed a skull-shattering RKO, ending Ryback's tenure in the cage. And then there were two. Though they had worked together to defeat Ryback, the two men in the ring were no strangers to betrayal, and had been bitter rivals at one point. I sighed nervously as they began to circle each other, not loving the idea of facing off against either of them.

When they finally locked up, the fight was fast, intense, and absolutely brutal to watch. It quickly became a game of counters which continued uninterrupted—aside from a few strikes—for several minutes until suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, Barrett pulled a reversal, punching Randy in the face and clearly breaking his nose before executing the Winds of Change, winning the match.

It was over. I blinked and it was over and now I had about three minutes to make a decision and get to the Gorilla. I looked up at Adam desperately.

"Let's take a walk" he suggested quietly.

Phil gave me a swift kiss as I stood. "I love you" he murmured. "Nothing is going to change that."

"I love you too" I whispered as Adam led me from the room.

"You can beat them both" Adam stated with way more confidence than I felt as we began the short walk to the curtain. "Barrett's newer, but he fights dirty. Punk will give you a clean fight, but he's the better wrestler of the two, he has more experience, and you'll have the mental handicap."

"So what do I do?" I asked as we stopped at the curtain with about sixty seconds left.

"It's up to you" he responded "but if you want my advice, fight Barrett. He's a little bigger than Punk but with your speed and technique you can beat him as long as you avoid his cheap shots."

I took a deep breath. "Alright." I didn't really want to fight the bare knuckle brawler, but I trusted Adam's advice a whole hell of a lot more than my own warped logic, especially at the moment.

"Hey, relax" he instructed gently. "No one's gonna let you go into this match blind. We have more than a month to prepare. You'll be more than ready for him by then."

I nodded just as my music began to play. "I guess that's my cue." I muttered.

"Go get it kid." He clapped me on the shoulder, and I crossed the threshold to the stage, the WWE Universe coming into view. They cheered as I made my entrance into the ring, the cage having been lifted during the video package, finally gesturing for the microphone.

I took a breath before holding the device to my lips. "Wade Barrett, I challenge you to a match at Wrestlemania for the World Heavyweight Championship" I stated deliberately and without preamble, my voice far more even than my nerves. The crowd went wild. I grinned at them for a second before turning back to the ramp as Wade Barrett's music hit.

The man walked casually down to the ring, championship slung over his shoulder. He climbed slowly into the ring, a look of almost disinterest crossing his face. Finally grabbing a microphone, he came to stand in front of me. Even at 5'9" I had to look up at him far more than I would've liked. "I accept your challenge little girl. I just hope you're ready for the worst ass kicking of your life."

I glared back at him. "We'll see about that. Just prepare yourself to lose that title to a 'little girl'." The disdain I felt towards his words poured through into my tone, making it more formidable than I even anticipated.

I guess Barrett had nothing to say to that, because we ended up going into a stare-off that lasted long after the cameras cut off. Finally Barrett muttered "I'll see you at Wrestlemania" off the microphone before turning away. I stayed in the ring until he was out of sight, waving cheekily at him before exiting the ring myself, taking a few photos with fans and slapping some hands before finally getting backstage.

"Short, sweet, to the point. Well done Kiddo."

I smiled up at him. If the Hall of Famer thought I was doing the right thing, I had to be on the right track. Together we began to wade through the crowd of Superstars, all of whom seemed to have something to say one way or another about what I'd just done. I was barely processing their words. It was way too much to think about all at once. I just walked through the crowd, head down, until I finally reached the dressing room I shared with Lita.

Adam put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. "We've all been there kid," he stated, seeming to sense my change in mood. "You've had a hell of a night already without the peanut gallery throwing their thousand and one different opinions at you."

I sighed lightly. "Yeah. Didn't need that. Part of the business though. Anyway…thanks."

He grinned. "Anytime. See you tomorrow night Amber."

I nodded and entered the room, getting changed as quickly as possible. I just wanted to get back to the bus. It would be quiet on the bus. Quiet sounded damn good.

As I exited the room, I found Phil waiting outside. "I guess my title's safe after all." He smirked, taking my hand and interlacing our fingers.

"Well, I didn't want to crush that precious ego of yours" I chuckled, bumping against him.

He threw his hand against his chest, heaving a ridiculously overdramatic sigh of relief. "Thank god! I don't know what I'd do if a woman handed my ass to me—wait… Between you and Amy I don't think I have any ego left."

I laughed. "Sure you don't Mr. Best In The World. No ego issues at all."

"There's a difference between ego and straight up facts" he chuckled.

We climbed onto the bus. "Sure there is" I said patronizingly as I fell onto the bed, completely burnt out.

Phil winked back at me, putting the WWE Championship in its rightful place in the refrigerator before joining me on the bed, both of us staring at the ceiling. "Hell of a week" he murmured, rolling towards me slightly and playing with a strand of my hair.

I groaned in agreement. "And it's not even over yet."

"One more day" he breathed.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Haven't confirmed it yet, but I'm pretty sure they're gonna need me on Smackdown now. Since I'm challenging for the World Heavyweight Championship and all… So two days for me." More time in the ring. More time on the road. More touring. Less sleep. I loved the business, but I was starting to question the sanity of that decision.

"Two then," he insisted. "I'll come with you."

"You don't have to" I argued weakly. I wanted him to, selfishly, but that didn't make it reasonable to ask him to follow me to another show that he couldn't even appear on.

He scoffed. "Aaaaand when exactly has that stopped me before? Besides, what am I gonna do? Go home and leave you here? Oh yeah, that sounds like me."

I rolled over, snuggling into him. "Just wanted to give you the option."

His thumb brushed back and forth over my shoulder. "Well thank you, but it doesn't change a damn thing."

We stayed like that for a few minutes before I interrupted the silence. "How are you feeling by the way? That match didn't exactly look fun."

"Bumps and bruises" he replied easily. "Well worth it for the title, especially going into Wrestlemania."

"Two years in a row no less" I smiled proudly, though he probably couldn't see it in our current position.

"Yeah…" I could hear a small note of pride enter his voice as well. "I bet Vince would've wagered a few of his millions that that would never happen when he hired me."

I chuckled. "For a man who's always right, he sure is wrong a lot of the time."

Phil scoffed. "Dude. He's almost always wrong. He's also going batshit crazy in his old age."

"I don't know about that… he did sign us…"

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day." he quipped.

"Fair enough" I answered, yawning.

"Time for sleep" he declared.

I groaned. "But…"

"No buts. I'll be right here."

"Are you gonna sleep?" I asked pointedly, shifting positions so I could look up at him.

He looked away. "Well…"

I scoffed. "Yeah, no. I'll stay up until you drop off then."

We ended up laying in bed for about an hour before Phil finally fell asleep, exhausted from his match. Naturally, at that point I was too awake to even consider sleep, so I ended up grabbing a book before shutting off the lights in the bedroom and curling up on the couch to read.

The book didn't end up lasting long as a distraction, my thoughts taking over quickly as my eyes couldn't focus well enough on the page to read properly. I found myself thinking of the past, and the immediate future in Wrestlemania as I stared out the window into the night sky, watching the scenery change.

That's exactly how Phil found me when he emerged from the bedroom four hours later, eyes heavy with sleep. He shot me a bemused look before pulling two Pepsis out of the fridge, tossing me one before cracking the other and taking a long swig. "You sleep?" he asked, sitting down next to me.

I shook my head. "I was too awake."

He groaned. "Jesus. This week is gonna kill us."

I laughed mirthlessly. "I wouldn't be fucking surprised."

"What were you thinking about anyway?" his voice was still slightly thick from waking up.

I grinned over at him. "It doesn't matter. Now I'm having entirely different thoughts."

His lip curled into a smirk. "Oh really now?"

We found our way back into the bedroom soon after, and managed to stay occupied until we pulled up to the arena for Raw with just enough time to grab some food from catering before the show kicked off.

Of course, the somewhat lighter mood we had managed to achieve from our earlier…activities… couldn't be allowed to last. Pretty much the moment we walked into the building we were told that we would be main eventing…against each other.

"Well fuck." I muttered. "This week may yet kill us after all."

A/N: I know… extra long update time, and a short chapter. That just seemed like a logical place to end it. And if I didn't cut it off there I would've had to make you guys wait another couple days because I'm not gonna have time to write after this for a little while. So… please review?


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